Someone Else's Star
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: GSR. Nothing, of course, begins at the time you think it did. Lillian Hellman
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: When one story ends, another begins;) I hope this one is as enjoyable as my others. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"It's a good thing to have all the props pulled out from under us occasionally. It gives us some sense of what is rock under out feet, and what is sand." - Madeleine L'Engle_

* * *

"This stuff is never coming out, is it?"

Grissom glanced over at Sara and gave in to the urge to smile. She held the shirt she'd worn to work that night at arms length, studying the yellowish stains that marred it with a crinkled nose.

"Decomp fluids are the bane of any dry cleaner," he told her. "And Tide is no match for human fat."

"Your professional opinion then, Doctor?" Sara asked.

"Toss it."

"I liked this shirt." She sighed as she balled it up. "I have lost almost an entire wardrobe to this job."

Grissom replaced his crime scene vest in his locker. "Occupational hazard."

"I should just start wearing these things everywhere." Sara tugged at the zipper of the coveralls she'd donned at the scene after slipping in the puddle that had surrounded their two week-old body. She had the zipper halfway down her torso before she remembered where she was. "Um…Grissom?"

It took him a second to catch on. "Oh. Sorry." He turned his back to her, swallowing heavily. Too late he realized that the mirror on the inside of his locker door was reflecting everything going on behind him.

He begged himself not to look, pleaded with himself to take the high road and act like the mature man he was. If Greg Sanders had been able to be a gentleman when he'd been forced into a decontamination shower with Sara, he could certainly do the same now.

But as it turned out, Greg was the better man.

For a moment, he thought that she had neglected to wear a bra. All he saw after she shrugged out of the arms of the coveralls was flesh, smooth and freckle-dusted. It was only when she reached behind her back that he realized the garment wasn't missing, it was just the same color as her beautiful skin.

A warning bell went off his in brain. Sara was unclasping her bra. And he was still watching.

"CSI Sidle," the receptionist's voice over the intercom saved him from crossing the line into lecherous peeper. Sara's hands stilled. "You have a visitor in the front lobby."

He heard her curse under her breath. "I'm not seeing anyone until I have a shower," she declared.

Grissom cleared his throat and closed his locker door. "Are you decent?" When he heard an affirmative response, he turned around. She had zipped her coveralls back up. "Grab your shower. I'll convey the message to your visitor."

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks. I'll try not to be too long."

Shame washed over him in a great wave. Even if it had only been for a brief minute, he'd turned her into a sexual object. She might never know it had happened, but he couldn't imagine ever forgiving himself for it.

Once out of the locker room, Grissom inhaled and exhaled slowly. It took a few breaths for his heart rate to settle down. He ran a hand through his graying curls and started walking towards the front of the building.

There were several people waiting in the lobby, so Grissom went straight to Judy, the receptionist. "Sara's catching a quick shower," he said. "Who's waiting for her?"

"Over there." Judy lowered her voice. "He's been here for the past two hours, Dr. Grissom. I told him Sara was in the field, but when I wouldn't give him her home address, he insisted on waiting for her to come back."

His apprehension was a reflex, he told himself, a learned response after twenty-something years working with criminals. It had nothing to do with the fact that a strange man was asking for Sara's address. He'd feel the same way if someone showed up asking about Catherine. Wouldn't he?

Grissom thanked Judy and turned to study the man she'd pointed out. He was seated in the middle of a bank of chairs, idly flipping through a magazine. His bangs were dark and thick; they obscured his face until he tossed the magazine aside and looked up.

His eyes matched his hair, and although Grissom was no judge about these things, he would probably be considered good-looking. Late-thirties, most likely. A taller, more rugged version of Nick Stokes.

"Excuse me," the man spoke suddenly, addressing Grissom. "I'm waiting for Sara Sidle. Do you know if she's come back yet?"

"I'm her supervisor, Gil Grissom." He might have offered the man his hand under different circumstances. "Sara's indisposed at the moment."

The look on the man's face changed, grew darker. "So…you're the famous Gil Grissom." His chuckle was bitter. "Not at all what I pictured, I'll tell you."

Grissom frowned. "Who are you?"

"She's never mentioned me, has she?" The man shook his head. "That should surprise me, but it doesn't. I'm Matt Wilson." He paused. "I'm Sara's fiancée."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I'm overwhelmed and grateful by the response to the first chapter of this story. I hope I keep living up to y'all's high expectations. Yes, I say "y'all." I'm Southern; I can get away with it. Thanks again!

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The beginning of wisdom is found in doubting; by doubting we come to the question, and by seeking we may come upon the truth. – Pierre Abelard

* * *

_September 2000_

Sara tapped ash off the end of her cigarette and raised it to her lips. This would be her last one, she swore. It was a lie she needed to tell herself. She knew full well that there was no way she'd make it to June without this particular vice.

It was a cold night in San Francisco, but she still had the window in their bedroom cracked open. A frigid breeze ruffled the pages of the magazine spread out on the bed in front of her. Not that she was bothered; she'd only been half-heartedly going through it. Sara found it extremely difficult to get excited about table decorations and seating charts, even if this magazine was trying to make them seem like the most important part of the day.

He stirred just then, and Sara quickly put out her cigarette. "Sorry," she whispered as he opened his eyes. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Squinting to see her better, Matt raised up on one elbow. "Baby, do you ever sleep?"

An honest answer wasn't what he was looking for, so Sara lied. "I just woke up."

"You work too much." He flopped back against the pillow. "Messes with your sleep schedule. That's gonna have to change."

Sara stared at him for a second before she climbed out of bed.

"Don't get all pouty, Sara. Just…come back," Matt said with a sigh as she pulled on her terrycloth robe. "We can fight in the morning."

But Sara was already on her way to the living room with her laptop. After fixing a cup of tea in the microwave, she settled into the overstuffed couch and opened up her saved email file. As always, a shiver of anticipation shot down her spine as she pulled up his latest email.

_Sara,_

_Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander._

_These words can be found in the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. I find them particularly telling on days like today. Days when, despite everything I know and everything I can do, despite the best equipment in the country and the smartest team assembled anywhere, I fail to bring justice to the innocent._

_A guilty man walked free today. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. All I can do is wait to process the body of his next victim. I tell myself that this doesn't make me a bystander. But I'm not sure I believe it. Do you?_

_Grissom_

_PS: While I've never been one for celebrating the anniversary of my own birth, for yours I will make an exception. I hope you had an excellent birthday._

Sara's fingers flew over the keyboard as she wrote her reply.

_Dear Grissom,_

_Humanity is won by continuing to play in the face of defeat. – Ralph Ellison_

_You're no bystander. I think_

"What are you writing?"

She closed her laptop just as Matt padded out into the living room. "Case notes."

He seemed to accept this, and Sara released a pent-up breath. Her correspondence with Gil Grissom was a point of contention in their relationship, an open sore spot she'd rather not pick at when there was already plenty of tension.

Matt sat down next to her on the couch. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I get so caught up in trying to take care of you, that I sometimes forget you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself." Sara watched as he entwined their fingers. "I hate fighting with you, Sara."

"We seem to be doing a lot of it," she murmured. "Maybe…we're rushing things."

The diamond on her ring finger shone in the light from the moon. "Is that you talking, or your temper?"

"The temper's part of the package. If you marry me, you marry it."

Matt shrugged his bare shoulders. "I accept that. And no, I don't think we're rushing things. I don't think you do either." He smiled. "I have noticed those bridal magazines, even though they're hidden under your journals."

Sara couldn't quite bring herself to tell him that she'd bought them hoping to spark some minute flare of excitement about the wedding.

"I'm crazy about you, Sara," Matt said, seeking out her lips with his. "Come back to bed and I'll show you just how much."

She tried to return the kiss with the same level of emotion as he put into it. "I'll be there in a minute, I promise. I just want to finish up before I lose my train of thought." He nodded and got up.

When she heard the squeak of the bed as he got back into it, Sara reopened her computer. She stared at the point where she she'd left off, eventually backspacing and trying again.

_You're no bystander. You don't need me to tell you this._

_Speaking of telling you things…_

Her hands stilled. The words would have been easy to type. "I'm engaged to a smart, handsome, funny physical therapist who wants to take care of me for the rest of my life. Sorry I haven't talked about him before this, but I keep holding out hope that you might be attracted to more than just my mind."

She lost her nerve before she'd even typed the first word.

Sara backspaced again.

_You're no bystander. Think of all the ones you've helped put away. And just imagine how many more you will in the future._

_Thanks for the birthday wishes._

_Yours, Sara_

Frowning, she stared at the last line. Was it too personal? Did it ask for too much? She tried it again.

_Sincerely, Sara_

_Until next time, Sara_

_Thinking of you, Sara_

_Sara_

Settling on the last option, the only one that left no room for interpretation, Sara saved the email to be delivered later and shut her computer down. Setting it aside, she started towards the bedroom and the man who lay waiting for her.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me...for the most part. 

Author's Notes: I'm so glad people seem to like this story! 'Cause it's certainly flowing out of my brain right now. Don't worry, though; I haven't abandoned my other WIP. But today is my birthday, so I'll post what I want to;) Hope you enjoy, and thanks again!

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance; it is the illusion of knowledge. – Daniel Boorstein_

* * *

Warrick entered the locker room as Sara was slicking her wet hair back into a ponytail. "Hey," he greeted her. "Did you hear you've got a visitor?" 

"I'm on my way, thanks." She closed her locker door. "Listen, I was thinking about maybe having a few people over to my place for dinner one night. Would you and Tina be interested?"

"A dinner party? Very Martha Stewart of you," he teased, stripping off his vest. "We're in."

Sara smiled. "Great."

"You do realize that you will be mocked for this," Warrick told her. "Possibly until you retire."

"I'm aware," she called out as she left the locker room, heading for the lobby.

She was feeling pretty good. Life, which had seemed so against her for so long, was starting to be fun again. Or maybe it always had been and she just hadn't seen it, being too caught up in self-pity over things she couldn't control.

But she wasn't playing that game anymore. She was healthy, she had good friends and her job still fascinated her. There were millions of people in the world who couldn't say the same. Eventually, you had to count your blessings and realize that having it all was just a pipe dream.

Greg stepped out of trace just as she walked by. "Greg," she flagged him down. "How do you feel about dinner parties?"

"Little too Queer Eye, even for this guy," he replied with a lop-sided grin.

"I'm hosting. All you have to do is show up. Just wear a nice shirt." And because he was Greg and might take her literally, she added, "And pants."

"Boxers optional, got it." Greg nodded. "Just let me know when."

Sara continued on her way to the lobby, all the while debating with herself over placating her guests and serving meat, or taking the opportunity to introduce them to the limitless possibilities of tofu.

It was funny, the stupid things you were thinking right before your entire world changed.

"Sara."

His voice came crashing back upon her, one drop of water in a tidal wave of memories. Six years. Had it really been six years?

"Matt…" Sara was surprised she could even make her tongue work in order to say his name. "You're here…you're in…why?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I mean…it's just been…"

"Six years Almost seven." He folded his arms over his chest. "I know."

Before Sara could even begin to get over the shock of seeing him, she noticed the man standing next to him. "Grissom?"

She had seen that look on his face once before, in the layout room after her relationship with Hank had been callously disclosed by his mentor. She didn't like it then, and she liked it even less now.

"The man's come all the way from San Francisco to see you, Sara." Grissom's words were too quiet, too even. "The least you could do is say 'hello'." He turned to the younger man and held out his hand. "Enjoy your stay in Vegas."

Matt shook it firmly. "Thanks. It's nice to finally put a face to the name, Gil."

Grissom looked back at Sara. "Sorry I couldn't do the same, Matt."

"Grissom, wait…" But he was already walking away and showed no signs of turning around. Frustrated, confused and a tad overwhelmed, Sara looked back at Matt with accusation in her eyes. "You told him everything, I guess? And just how much did you enjoy that?"

"Do you really want to have this conversation here?" he spread his arms, indicating the lobby and the people who were watching.

Her shoulders slumped a bit. "There's a diner at the end of the block. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

* * *

Three empty beakers and one bottle of magnesium sulfate lay in ruins before Grissom stopped himself, and even then he only did so because the next item on the shelf was hydrochloric acid. Gripping the side of his desk, he drew in and released several deep breaths. 

They didn't help.

For six years, he'd lived in blissful ignorance of Sara's life before she came to Las Vegas. It was very easy to assume that she'd lived then much like she did now. And he liked that. It was selfish and juvenile and, frankly, cruel, but it had made him feel better to imagine her sitting alone in her apartment in San Francisco, waiting for his emails. She wasn't supposed to have been…

"Did the beakers have it coming?" He glanced up as Catherine entered his office and followed the trail of broken glass until she reached him.

He straightened up. "What do you need, Catherine?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Just dropping off my request for vacation time. I'm taking Lindsey to…"

"Leave it on my desk," Grissom cut her off.

Catherine carefully placed the form on top of the shortest stack of papers and backed up, her eyes never leaving him like he was a wounded lion, and she was a passing gazelle.

She paused at the door and looked back. "Gil, would you even tell me if I asked?"

His reply was terse. "Odds aren't good."

"Right."

When she was gone, Grissom pulled off his glasses and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. After six years of calling the shots in his relationship with Sara, control had suddenly been ripped away from him. Everything he thought he knew for certain was now suspect. And much like bad Chinese food, it wasn't settling well.

* * *

He'd picked a back corner of the diner, and he'd gone ahead and ordered her a cup of coffee. 

"I tried to get a seat in the smoking section, but we would've had to wait," Matt told her as she slid in across from him.

"I quit." Sara pushed away the coffee he gestured at. "Matt…I don't even know where to begin."

Adding cream to his own cup, he smiled wryly. "You look really good, Sara."

"I look like hell and you know it." Her anger faded quickly. "But thank you for the lie," she whispered.

Their eyes met over the rim of his mug. "How about we pick up right there?" Matt suggested.

Sara leaned back against the hard plastic seat and closed her eyes for a brief moment. "It's as good a place as any."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone for the reviews and the birthday good wishes! Let me tell you, they totally made my day even better. Enjoy this new chapter!

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Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning. – Ivy Baker Priest

* * *

_October 2000_

"Sara, everyone gets married on the beach. The Japanese Tea Gardens are ten times prettier, and not nearly so clichéd. Oh, can you imagine the photographs? The two of you standing on one of those little curved bridges, with the babbling brook running underneath your feet…"

Pulling the phone away from her ear, Sara let Matt's mother continue. She flipped a page in her forensics journal. It could be anywhere from ten minutes to a half hour before her input was requested, if it ever was.

When she was done with the article, she put the journal aside and lifted the phone back up to her ear.

"…not that Tahoe isn't a perfectly romantic place to have your honeymoon, but think about it this way: this is the place where you will have your first relations as man and wife. Wouldn't you rather go somewhere exotic like Hawaii or the Caribbean? Oh! Maybe abroad! Italy...or Spain…"

She interjected a quick, "Uh-huh," and moved the phone away again. This time, she reached for her laptop.

_Sara,_

_Would I be displaying my age if I said the idea of training yet another fresh-faced academy grad has me exhausted already? She starts tomorrow night. At the very least, I'll get a pint of blood out of the deal._

_Grissom_

Balancing the phone on her shoulder…Matt's mother had moved on to the bridesmaid's dresses…Sara started typing.

_Dear Grissom,_

_Age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese. – Billie Burke_

_Show her an autopsy. But only write her off if she faints. Puke doesn't count. If it did, I'd be out of a job._

_Sara_

Once again, she found herself in the middle of an internal debate. Was the quote too on the nose, making too pointed of a comment on the irrelevancy of the age difference that only seemed to bother him? Should she take it out and maintain the status quo, or leave it in and give it a chance to make him think twice?

Her heartwon the battle, and she left it in.

Eventually, though, Sara's attention had to return to her future mother-in-law, whether she liked it or not. "Lucy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short and start getting ready for work."

"I know you love your job, Sara, but I have to say it again…the kind of hours you work coupled with the fact that half the time you're working while Matt's sleeping and you barely get to see each other…it worries me. A marriage needs a strong foundation and in the first year, that can only come from being together. If you're not…"

It was a familiar discussion and one that Sara didn't have time for. Fortunately she heard the front door opening just then as Matt returned home. "I really have to go now. We'll talk soon. Bye!"

She hung up just as Matt entered the room. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Your mother. She wants us to consummate our marriage in Europe."

"Thank you for sparing me." He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he walked by the couch. Too late, Sara realized Grissom's email was still open on her laptop screen. She rushed to explain, but Matt spoke first. "You told me you didn't hear from him all that often."

"I don't." She sighed. He didn't deserve to have his intelligence insulted. "Okay. We write each other maybe once or twice a week. Depending on life."

"Life?"

Sara tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Yeah. Some weeks we have more to talk about than others."

Matt started to walk away, but then thought better of it and turned around. "You're supposed to talk about life with me, Sara."

"And I do," she countered, setting her computer to one side and standing up. "But he and I are in the same line of work, Matt. Of course there are going to be times I find it easier to talk to him. He understands the things I see every day."

"And I can't?"

Sara gave him a strained smile. "Matt, c'mon. When's the last time you saw an entire family slaughtered in their own beds?"

"Never, Sara. I help put people back together; you figure out who broke them past repair. But that doesn't mean I can't hold you after you've seen all that shit, and try to make at least one part of your day good." He paused. "Can Gil Grissom do that?"

She folded her arms awkwardly. "He's my mentor."

"Well. Can't argue with that, I guess." Matt gave her a painfully sad look. "I'm in the mood for pasta. Will you want to eat before work?"

Sara wasn't the least bit hungry now, but she nodded. "Matt," she called out when he turned to go again. He looked back and something in his eyes spoke of his hope that all of his doubts and instinctual fears about her relationship with Grissom were just the product of his own paranoia.

She couldn't tell him. It wasn't the right time to bring up her own doubts and fears about their impending marriage, and the restraints it would put upon her. The invisible tether by which she would forever be tied to one man, while another secretly occupied her heart…already she found herself waging a silent war against it. And he had no clue.

"I'll make a salad," Sara said softly.

They worked side by side, him stirring sauce and boiling linguine while she chopped vegetables and shook together a dressing. As Sara set out plates and silverware, she felt Matt come up behind her. He said nothing, just wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It was an unspoken truce that she accepted by relaxing back against his hard chest.

Grissom's body would be softer, but would he ever offer it so willingly?

* * *

Her cell phone rang thirty-six hours later.

Dawn was creeping up on San Francisco; its warm rays played over the bed in which Sara and Matt slept. She was immediately woken by the call, being the lightest of sleepers. Automatically assuming it was work-related, she answered, "Sidle."

"Sara." There was a pause. "It's Gil Grissom."

She sat up in bed and switched the phone to her other ear. It had been a good six months since they'd spoken on the phone. "Grissom, hi. Hey. Um…how…how's it…uh…going?" She quietly slapped her forehead. Her tongue never got twisted around anyone else.

"I woke you up."

"No. Well, yes. It doesn't matter." Sara cast a guilty glance at Matt, still peacefully sleeping beside her. "It's good to hear from you."

His voice sounded tired, almost shell-shocked. "I'm sorry, but I didn't call to catch up." She waited for him to go on. "Something's happened."

She listened, absorbing all the details she could about the tragic shooting of his newest CSI, Holly something. Another of the names in the story was more familiar. Warrick Brown was someone he mentioned in his emails occasionally. She'd even been jealous in the past of the pride he seemed to have in the man. Her green-eyed monster took mean pleasure in hearing just how badly the man appeared to have screwed up.

There was to be an internal investigation, she gathered, and rightfully so. He would need an objective eye, someone not connected with anyone on his shift, or even in his department. She told him this when he finished a few minutes later. If he'd called for her advice, that was it.

She wasn't at all prepared for what he was really after.

"Sara," Grissom said with a note of nervousness in his tone. "I don't need just anyone for this. I need you."

"I've got some vacation time saved up," Sara heard herself telling him before the impact of his statement really hit her. "I'll catch the next flight out."

He let out a breath of what she took for relief. "The lab's on North Tropicana. If I'm not there, the receptionist will tell you where I am." She could almost see him smiling, that damn imperfect smile that had captivated her the very first day they'd met. "Thank you, Sara. Thank you."

"Hey." She tried to keep her words light, even though her heart was beating a million times per second. His 'I need you' had finally registered. "What are friends for?"

Sara hung up the phone and turned back to Matt. He was wide awake. One look at the hard expression on his face told her that he'd heard everything.

"Did he actually snap his fingers, or does he have you so well trained that he doesn't even have to expend that much effort to get you to come on command?"

She flipped the covers off her bare legs with more force than was necessary. Grabbing some clothes from her dresser, she announced, "I'm going to take a shower."

When she emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he was waiting for her. "Were you even going to wake me up to say goodbye?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sara snapped as she dug a big shoulder bag out from under the bed.

Matt watched her as she filled it with a few changes of clothing. "Is it ridiculous to ask if you were going to discuss this with me?"

"Matt." She slammed a pack of cigarettes into the bag. "You have no idea what it means to be hand-picked for an investigation by Gil Grissom. To anyone, not just me. And let's remember something. Did you discuss it with me when you signed up for that convention in Orlando over the summer?"

"That's different," he shot back. "There wasn't a woman waiting for me in Florida who I happen to have a past with."

"Grissom and I have no past beyond teacher and student. I'm going to Las Vegas to help him out for a few days. A week at the most." She closed up her bag. "My boss will understand. Why can't you?"

"Your boss isn't in love with you." A long minute stretched by. "Tell me…that's all there is to it. A career thing. A friend thing. Nothing more."

On their first date, nervous and looking for small talk, she'd told him that you could spot a liar by the way they looked off to the side. "It's a career thing." She forced herself to look at him straight on. "A friend thing. Nothing more. I'll be back before you know it."

A light in his eyes went out. "Thanks for the lie."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I continue to be so, so, so grateful for all the great responses to my story. Thank you, every one of you, for reading and reviewing and coming back for more!

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Two roads diverged in a wood and I--I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." – Robert Frost

* * *

_October 2000_

She'd never met Holly Gribbs and she hadn't really done all that much to help catch the woman's killer, but Sara still felt satisfied as she stood with Grissom's team, watching the man be carted away.

"Let's go home," she heard Grissom say, and for the first time in over a day, she thought of Matt and San Francisco. All of the responsibility waiting for her back in California pressed down on her chest; she had to walk away from the group in order to catch her breath.

Catherine Willows approached her, removing her sunglasses. "You interested in breakfast?"

She wanted to say yes, but Sara shook her head. "I need to finish up some paperwork and then find a flight back." She held out her hand. "Thanks for putting 'bling-bling' in my vocabulary."

The older woman shook it firmly. "Anytime." Slipping her shades back on, she gestured to Warrick and Nick. "Pancakes are on me, guys. Usual spot."

"Be there in ten," Nick called back as they started across the lot towards his car.

"Grissom, are you in?" Catherine asked.

Sara dug into her bag for a piece of Nicorette; sometime on the flight between San Francisco and Las Vegas, she'd decided to quit. It was a hundred times harder than she'd thought it would be. As she searched, she tried not to pay attention to Grissom's reply, like it didn't matter to her at all whether they got to talk before she left.

Still, she couldn't hide her smile when he replied, "Not this time."

Catherine's car pulled out of the lot after Nick and Warrick, leaving them alone.

Sara gave up on the gum and folded her arms over her chest. "So…" she started.

At least he was equally at a loss for words. "Yeah."

"Let's get some coffee."

"How about coffee?"

They spoke at the same time, and laughed on cue. With the ice temporarily broken, Grissom gestured to his car. "I know a good spot."

* * *

"Mocha Vanilla." Grissom sipped his plain black house blend and shook his head. "It was Cinnamon Hazelnut at Berkeley, if I remember correctly." 

"Good memory," Sara complimented him.

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "It was a good day."

She concentrated on doctoring her coffee while she processed this. Finally, she looked up. "You have a first-rate team, Grissom. I enjoyed working with them."

"It's an incomplete team now," he said. "And I'm in charge of it."

"Your promotion doesn't exactly seem to thrill you."

He took a sip and winced at the heat. "I hate paperwork and I'm terrible at politics."

Sara rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "'The price of greatness is responsibility.'"

"Churchill." Grissom glanced down at his cup. "Do you think I can do this?"

She met his stare when he looked up. "I have no doubt."

They watched each other for a long time. "Sara, I can't begin to tell you…"

"You're welcome," she preempted him. "I hope I helped answer some of your 'why's'."

His smile was rueful. "You did. Some of them, anyways."

"The 'why's' never really get answered. We're in the business of the 'who's,' the 'where's,' the 'how's.' You taught me that."

Another moment passed by in silence. Finally, Sara looked down at her watch. "I should get going…find a flight before they're all booked up."

He frowned. "Yeah."

She rose out of her chair just enough to lean across the table and kiss his cheek. It was the boldest move she'd ever made in her life, and the frantic thumping of her heart proved it. "Don't be a stranger," Sara told him. "All right?" Grissom nodded mechanically as she stood up, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. "Bye."

"Wait."

Sara stopped short, and turned her head to see him. He touched his cheek briefly as he went on. "Bear in mind, administration is still new to me. So if I do this wrong…forgive me." Grissom paused, as if collecting himself. "I'm short one person on graveyard. And there's really only one person I think could fill that spot."

Oh, she wanted him to ask her. God, she hoped he didn't. She wasn't sure she was ready to make that choice.

"I realize you have a job in San Francisco, but strings can be pulled…formalities overlooked." He tried to smile. "I'll have my director call your director."

"Grissom." Sara shook her head. "Are you trying to ask me…?"

"I want you to stay. Be a part of my team." He searched her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think…" She stood on jellied legs. "I need to…um…step outside for a minute." Ignoring his puzzled look, Sara grabbed her bag and started for the door.

The fresh air cleared her head, evaporating some of her panic, and allowing a spark of joy to light up her heart. Grissom wanted her. He could have his pick of all the criminalists in the country, but he'd hand-picked her. It was an honor beyond words.

It was also a huge problem.

She dug into her bag for her phone and dialed.

Matt answered after the first ring, like he'd been standing by the phone waiting for her call. Which wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, she realized.

"How's the case?" he asked after her 'hello'. The question was strained. Like everything else between them.

"Good." She looked up at the sky. "Wrapping up."

"I miss you."

Hissimple statement punched her in the chest. "Matt," she began.

"You're not coming home tomorrow…or the day after tomorrow…or even at the end of the week. Are you?"

Sara chewed her lower lip. "I don't know."

"Why?"

She nearly lost it right there; his desperate plea for understanding had her heart breaking. "It's too much. The flowers and…and the honeymoon. My dress. I can't…I need time, Matt."

It took him a few seconds to reply. "Okay. Okay, Sara. What are we talking here? Six months?" She said nothing. "A year?" Still, Sara was silent. "More than that?"

"Can we play it by ear?" she whispered. Matt cursed under his breath, and she added, "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say but…I'm sorry."

He spoke again just as she'd almost given up and ended the call. "Take the time you need. Find all the answers to your questions. Get him out of your system. Whatever you have to do…do it. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Sara. And even if you can't say it right now, I know you love me, too."

She closed her eyes; tears spilt over. "Bye, Matt."

It would be the last words spoken between them for six years.

Sara went back inside the coffee shop and slipped into her seat across from Grissom.

"Everything all right?" he asked, still frowning in confusion.

She'd wiped the liquid evidence off her cheeks, but she couldn't quite work up a smile yet. "Fine," she told him. "Have your director call my director. I'd love to be a part of your team."

Grissom's smile was bright enough for both of them. "You won't regret it, Sara. I promise."

In all the lies, that one would hurt the most.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Enjoy this new chapter! I'm getting mixed feelings from y'all about Matt...which I love;) Thanks for the feedback. Until next time, take care!

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Man seeks to escape himself…and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, lies…give him a few moments of comfort. – Jean Cocteau

* * *

_March 2006_

One of the advantages of being a CSI was having access to many otherwise restricted online databases. Grissom had never abused this power before, and he hoped he never would again. But the need for knowledge, or rather the need for the control that knowledge had given him in the past, had been too great. And before he could come to his senses, Grissom found himself typing a single name into the search engine.

Matthew Wilson.

It was a common name, he realized too late, after receiving several thousand matches. He refined his search.

Matthew Wilson, San Francisco

That narrowed things down a bit. Matthew Wilson, age 37, according to his DMV record. A safe driver with no points on his California license. No outstanding warrants, no record of convictions or even arrests.

Matthew Wilson, graduate of UC Davis with a Masters in Sports Medicine. Licensed physical therapist in the state of California. Partner in a therapy group for the past ten years.

Matthew Wilson, author of "Everyday Therapy: Physical Fitness for Busy Lives." Praised by the American Board of Physical Therapists. Mostly ignored by the public.

Matthew Wilson, applied for a San Francisco County marriage license to Sara Sidle in September of 2000. The license was never issued. But…the request had never been formally withdrawn. There was one address listed on the application for both parties.

Grissom pushed away from his computer. A lump rose in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow.

The man was law abiding, of above average intelligence, accomplished within his field…and he had lived with and been engaged to Sara.

He'd been looking for proof that Matt Wilson wasn't who he claimed to be. At the very least, he'd been hoping to find that it was all a misunderstanding. That Sara…his Sara…had never given her heart to anyone else.

What he'd found was confirmation of his worst nightmare.

The only proof he could see was that Matt Wilson was a major part of Sara's past. And now that the man had reappeared after six years, Grissom drew one logical conclusion that had him gasping for breath.

Matt Wilson wanted to be a part of Sara's future.

* * *

"Writing the book was the hardest thing I've ever done." Matt sipped his coffee. "But it was also an amazing experience. Even if it didn't exactly hit the bestseller list, I'm not sorry I did it." 

Sara shook her head. "I can't believe you wrote a book. As I recall, you didn't even like to write emails."

"People change, Sara."

His words struck a deeply buried nerve. "I guess so." When she looked up at him, it was with a sad smile. "I'm proud of you."

He accepted this with a nod of his head. "All right. We've rehashed the past and talked about the last six years of my life. It's your turn now."

She'd been dreading this. Her coffee was cold, but Sara drained the cup anyways, needing the fortification of caffeine. "What exactly do you want to know?"

Matt laughed. "I don't know, Sara. Anything. Everything. When did you quit smoking? When did you start straightening your hair? Could I still go into your bag and find beef jerky?"

"Six years ago. On and off for about five years. And no, because I'm a vegetarian now."

"Oh, there's got to be a story behind that."

Despite herself, the corners of Sara's lips twitched. "I spent twelve hours with a dead pig, a heat lamp and…" She stopped just before she named her partner in the life-changing experiment. "And a whole lot of flies. Meat hasn't looked the same since."

"Say no more." Matt pulled at his collar. "Really…say no more. Please."

Her amusement manifested as a genuine smile. "I see that stomach of yours hasn't gotten any stronger in six years."

"Uh-uh. We're not talking about me anymore, Sara. We're still on you."

She sighed. "I don't know. I've…it's just been…you know…work. There's been interesting cases and I've made some good friends in the department."

"Have you dated?" he asked calmly.

Sara lifted her shoulder. "Never seriously."

"What about…"

"Matt." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

A long moment passed. "I'm sorry."

"Really?" she asked, skeptically.

"Well…no. But I want to be. I'd like think that I'm the kind of person who doesn't hold a grudge."

"You hold a grudge against me?" Sara blinked. "I guess I can't blame you, but…"

"Not against you, Sara."

She didn't need to inquire further. "Oh."

"You never told him about us. Did you?"

Sara shook her head tightly. "It never seemed like the right…" She stopped. "He never asked."

Setting down his mug, Matt studied her. "I bet you're wondering why I came. Now…after all this time."

"The thought has crossed my mind."

"It's really simple." He reached for her hand. "I wanted to see you. I wanted…no, I needed to make sure you're all right. And that you're happy."

Sara tried to ignore the familiar warmth of his touch. "I am."

"No more lies," Matt said, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Tell me that you're happy…and I'll get a flight back to California tonight." There was a pause. "But if you can't do that, Sara, then get used to having me around. I've been considering opening my own practice for quite awhile, and Las Vegas seems as good a place as any to set it up."

When she said nothing after a full minute, Matt threaded his fingers through hers. "Well, there's my answer."

Sara stared at their entwined fingers. "Why haven't you moved on…forgotten about me? I treated you…well, you know. You were there. It was bad." She lowered her eyes. "Why don't you hate me?"

"I'm the one who told you to take all the time you needed. And I also told you I wasn't going anywhere. Remember?"

"I do. I just…"

Matt cut her off gently. "We've done a lot of talking for one night. And you've just come off a shift. Why don't you go home and get some rest…and I'll take you to dinner tonight? You can show me the city."

"I'll be a shitty tour guide," Sara confessed. "I've only been in the casinos when they're part of an investigation."

"Then we'll explore Vegas together. What do you say?"

It was the nicest invitation she'd received in a very long time. She found herself nodding, sealing the date with silent acceptance.

Whether she was ready or not, Matt was back in her life. And yet…it felt anything but awkward.

* * *

He dialed slowly, pressing each button with extreme care and accuracy. By the time he lifted the receiver to his ear, her phone was already ringing. 

"Grissom?" she answered, sleepily. No possibility of anonymity with caller ID. Technology was a bitch.

Several jigs of good Scotch had prompted him to make the call. It was just too bad that along with the courage came a fog around his brain that he couldn't seem to penetrate.

"I know it's you, Grissom," she continued, sounding a bit more awake now. "Are you going to say anything?"

He sat alone in his darkened living room, unable to form a single word.

"Okay. If you're not going to talk, I will." There was a pause. "I dislocated my shoulder not long after making CSI Level I in San Francisco. The department sent me to a physical therapist. That's how I met Matt. As soon as I was healed and no longer his patient, he asked me out. We obviously hit it off…and he asked me to marry him six months later."

Grissom silently drained the last inch of amber liquid from his glass.

"I don't know why I never told you. I guess…I didn't want to know what your reaction would be. If you were upset…I'd know that I'd made a mistake. If you weren't…" Another pause followed. "I'd know that everything really had been in my imagination."

"I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow," she admitted. "Now that these two big pieces of my life have collided. So if you called for answers…I don't have them. And I'm not even sure you'd deserve them."

A minute ticked by in heavy silence. Finally, Sara sighed. "I'm done, Grissom. Don't call me again unless you plan on making some confessions of your own. You owe me. Six years ago…I was faced with a choice. I chose you. And you promised I wouldn't regret it."

His grip tightened on his empty glass.

"You know the sad thing?" Sara sniffed softly. "Even now...when you look at me a certain way…I don't."

She hung up without saying goodbye.

Grissom held the phone to his ear until it started beeping at him, an automated prompt to hang up, to let go, to give up hope that she might come back.

He set the receiver down and picked up the bottle of Scotch.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the great feedback! I continue to be pleasantly surprised by your kindness and interest.

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"Fear not for the future; weep not for the past." - Percy Bysshe Shelley_

* * *

It was like the phone call had never taken place. 

Exactly as Sara had predicted, Grissom largely ignored her after his experiment in drunk dialing. It made her feel a whole lot less guilty about going out with Matt.

It was strange. Being with Matt after six years of separation felt more comfortable than the last month or so of their official relationship had.

She took him to the Bellagio fountains, the Venetian's canal, the shark aquarium at Monterey Bay. They pulled slots in the Palms and spun the roulette at the MGM Grand. He bought her a giant pretzel at a street vendor; she sprung for his chili dog.

And they talked. Really talked. Like they hadn't even when they were lovers. He was still funny and smart and kind. He shared things with her. He listened. And she didn't get the feeling he was analyzing her. That, she had to admit, was refreshing.

An entire evening passed without a single thought of Grissom.

When Matt dropped her off at her apartment, she kissed him. It was soft and chaste, nothing that she would think twice about giving Greg Sanders.

Matt didn't ask for anything more. Perhaps that was what prompted her press her lips to his in a way she never would with Greg. It took him a moment to return the second kiss, but when he did there was little doubt as to whether he appreciated the gesture.

"Old time's sake?" he asked when they broke apart.

Sara looked back and forth between his dark eyes. "I'm not sure."

Mat nodded. "Let me know when you are."

* * *

His words were still so much on her mind that she barely noticed when Grissom's obligatory withdrawal period ended and he started speaking to her again. She was in the layout room, case evidence spread out around her, but she probably couldn't have told anyone the name of the victim, or even the type of crime she was supposed to be investigating. She was too busy staring into space. 

"Sara."

She blinked and focused on Grissom. He stood in the doorway, a file tucked underneath his arm. Figuring whatever he had to say was of some importance if he broke his silent treatment in order to come to her with it, she waited for him to go on.

"When did you start regretting that you came here?"

The speed with which her answer came surprised her. "Probably not long after you started regretting asking me."

Grissom stared at her. "That's never happened."

Sara pushed away from the table and folded her arms across her chest. "No lies, Grissom. I've told enough to know the difference."

"Sara…" He paused, like he always did when he needed an extra moment to collect himself. "You don't understand."

She gave him ample time to finish thought. Her heart cracked a little more when he couldn't. "Yeah. I do." Sara stood up. "The best I can figure, it started when you realized…you couldn't control me like you wanted to."

"Control you."

"Please don't say that like it's a completely foreign concept. In the entire time we've known each other, you've been in control. I never emailed you when I was in San Francisco; I waited until you emailed me. You asked me to come, you asked me to stay, you decided when it was okay for us to flirt, and when it wasn't. You called the shots, Grissom. And when I stepped out on my own…found someone who would take me out or tried to make a change in our relationship…admit it. You found yourself wishing you'd just let me go back to California."

Instead of replying to any of what she'd said, Grissom pulled the file out from under his arm. "I've wanted you to have this for a long time. It just never seemed like the right moment to give it to you. I guess now…well…what does matter?" He walked over and handed her the file.

"What is it?" Sara asked as she warily took it from him.

"The past," he replied. "The only thing I can't change."

* * *

She waited to satisfy her curiosity until she was surrounded by the silence of her apartment. After arming herself with a beer, Sara tucked up in a corner of her sofa and opened the file. 

On the top of a neat stack of printed pages was a Starbucks napkin. She lifted it up with trembling fingers. It was worn around the edges, but it still looked pretty much the same as it had on the day she'd used it to write down her email address.

Sara ran her thumb over the ink. He'd saved it. All these years, he'd saved that stupid coffeehouse napkin.

She set it aside before her grip could ruin it and turned her attention to the first page.

_Grissom,_

_In addition to remembering your name, where we met, and that you have an extraordinarily boring taste in coffee, I am really glad to hear from you._

_It's about damn time._

_You asked about this, my final last semester. Hellacious is the first word that springs to mind. I feel like there are a million things left to learn and only a matter of weeks left in which to learn them. I've been offered a permanent position with the SFPD lab, so at least I have some job security upfront. Makes life just a little bit easier._

_I hope you won't take another two months to write back. I'm pretty patient, but a girl's got her limits._

_Sara_

The next page was dated a week later.

_Grissom,_

_I have no answer to the question you posed, so I'll take a page from your book and borrow someone else's words._

_Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You, too? Thought I was the only one." - CS Lewis_

_What? You love playing guessing games with the dead, too? Thought I was the only one._

_There. We're friends._

_Sara_

She quickly flipped ahead to about a third of the way through the stack.

_Dear Grissom,_

_Remember my impatience with the robberies and assaults my supervisor has been sending me out on? I take all my whining back._

_I'm in the middle of my first murder case. And it's not going well. No witnesses, very little physical evidence, and a five year-old boy who will grow up without a mother._

_Tell me that it gets better when you solve it. Tell me you learn to live with yourself if you don't._

_Sara_

Two days later, another message.

_Thank you._

_Sara_

She read over her words from so many years ago through a mist of tears. She'd written him with confidence, flirtation and hope. Couldn't he see that even back then, she'd been falling in more love with each email she sent?

Ten minutes ago, she would have answered her own question with a resounding "no." But now, it wasn't so easy. He'd printed out each and every one of her correspondences and saved them. Would anyone do that for someone they only cared about as a friend? She didn't save Greg's emails, although admittedly they were mostly dirty jokes.

For the first time in six years, Sara desperately wanted a cigarette. Instead of going out and buying a pack, she threw Grissom's file off her lap. Pages scattered like snowflakes.

"Damn you!" Sara yelled as if he could hear her across down. "God damn you!"

Every time she felt like she'd untangled herself from his hook, he reeled her back in.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for the continued feedback;) It probably seems like I've forgotten my other WIP in favor of this story, but I promise you, I am working on the next chapter of "Beauty and the Beholder." It's just coming along slowly for some reason, and this story is flowing. It happens;) Enjoy!

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth. – Benjamin Disraeli_

* * *

When he got home, Grissom tried to keep busy. It was the only way, he figured, to keep his mind off of the fact that Sara had the emails.

Best case scenario: she set the folder aside and forgot about it.

Worst case scenario: she looked inside…then wrote him off as a pathetic old man who clung onto fragments of a relationship that existed only in his affected head.

He poked at the bran cereal he was forcing himself to eat. It had become soggy, evidence that despite his efforts, she was still in his thoughts. Maybe he should skip the fiber and go straight for the grain alcohol. It didn't take long for him to decide against that. Last time, he hadn't been able to control his dialing finger. And he'd made things with Sara even more strained.

But in the middle of that beautiful feeling of freedom that came from inebriation, he had just desperately needed to hear her voice.

Grissom dumped the sodden remains of his breakfast down the sink's disposal just as his doorbell chimed.

Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he went to answer the door. The first thing he saw was the manila of a very familiar folder as it was thrust into his face.

Well, she hadn't just set it aside.

Hurricane Sara blew past him and thundered into his tidy home, just as she had thundered into his tidy life so many years ago. She turned on him.

"Why?" was all she said, yet she asked for so much.

"I don't know," was his honest reply.

They held their positions for a moment before Sara advanced. Dropping the folder onto the floor, she reached for him, but Grissom unconsciously jerked back. Undaunted, she moved again, faster this time until she held his hand between the palms of her slender hands.

She touched her lips to his, exerting no more pressure than the wings of a ladybug. It was all he needed to release the floodgates. Ten years of harnessed impulses suddenly set free had him grabbing her waist. He could feel his fingers digging into her giving flesh, but her only moan was of approval.

Kissing had been awkward for him in the past. He'd never been quite sure of where to put his tongue or how to move it or if he was, god forbid, slobbering all over his partner. Kissing Sara, he still had all those worries. But they weren't quite strong enough to make him stop.

An earthquake wouldn't have been quite strong enough to make him stop.

Sara slipped her hands down to his shoulders, then continued along the length of his shirt. Their mouths still danced together when she paused at his belt buckle. It was an invitation and a question.

They broke apart and watched each other. Finally, Grissom reached down and covered her hands with his. But instead of moving them away, he started to help her with the buckle.

* * *

The word love was never spoken. In fact, no words were spoken as Grissom made a mental map of every new inch of skin he explored. He simply laid her out on his bed, and annexed whole areas in reverent silence.

Because she'd giggled when he'd nuzzled it, and he couldn't remember ever hearing her giggle, he claimed her flat belly just above her patch of silky down in the name of Grissom. He also laid claim to the slope and undercurve of her right breast, baby soft and flawlessly designed. It wasn't that he didn't admire the left one equally, but he didn't want to be too greedy. Especially since he'd also appropriated the notch at the base of her throat and was considering taking possession of the small of her back.

Grissom traced the length of her spine as she slept on her stomach, exhausted from a long shift and what he hoped had been a satisfying experience. It certainly had been for him. He replaced his fingers with his lips and planted a row of kisses up the smooth line of her back. She shifted in her sleep and murmured his name. Grissom covered her body and slipped a hand underneath her to cup the breast he'd claimed.

"Sara," he whispered against her ear.

Her lashes lifted and the corners of her lips turned up. "What?" she whispered back.

"Are you okay?"

She rolled over beneath him and reached up to twist a rumpled silvery curl around her index finger. "Yeah."

Grissom relished the intimate, loving gesture. "Do you need anything?"

"Another chance," Sara eventually replied.

"To what, honey?"

He reminded himself that she was fifteen years younger and trained in martial arts when she managed to flip him onto his back and pin him down in a matter of seconds. Straddling his waist, Sara smiled wickedly. "To make you lose control."

* * *

Somehow, his alarm clock had been kicked off his nightstand with enough force to unplug it from the wall. Grissom realized this when he woke again and become conscious of the fact he had no idea what time it was.

He left Sara to her sleep (this time she was curled up around one of his pillows) and pulled on some old, comfortable pajama bottoms and t-shirt. He followed the trail of their discarded clothes to the living room and checked the clock. It was after two in the afternoon.

Lunch in bed, Grissom decided, and he set about slicing bread and cheese and butter. He was just about to lay the sandwiches onto a heated griddle when his doorbell rang for a second time that day.

Panic momentarily gripped him. He had a very naked co-worker in his bedroom and the handful of people who might be at his door were the same handful of people who didn't need to know about it.

The bell chimed again; if he didn't do something, it would wake Sara. Grissom sighed and started for the door.

Matt Wilson stood on his stoop. "I'm sorry to show up like this," he said when several seconds had passed in silence. "I got your address from Sara's cell phone."

For the first time since he'd learned of the younger man's existence, Grissom didn't feel inferior to him. Matt might have had a brief moment in time with Sara, but in the end, she'd chosen him. She was in his city, his lab, his bed.

Grissom folded his arms over his chest. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know something." Looking him straight in the eye, Matt asked, "Do you love her?"

They stared at each other. Finally, Grissom stepped back and gestured the man inside. He closed the door and turned around to answer, but Matt cut him off. "I do, you know. I love her. She's the only woman I ever have."

"Then why did you let her go?" Grissom asked with a fair amount of triumph. He hadn't let Sara go; he'd held onto her, kept her from leaving.

"Because I made a promise to myself to be the only man she's known who's never left her, disappointed her…or tried to control her." Matt slipped his hands into the pockets of his khakis. "Do you have any idea what she's been through in her life?"

Grissom walked to the stove and turned off the burner. "She's shared her past with me."

"Really? She's told you about being tricked into testifying against her mother at her trial? She's told you about the foster family who forgot to feed her for a week? She's told you about losing her brother to drugs? About working two jobs in high school to try to pay for braces, but never making enough money to even come close?"

All Grissom could do was blink. "Do you know that she can handle any bodily fluid except saliva?" he eventually shot back. "Or that she carries industrial strength disinfectant with her to hotels? Or that she has a scar on her palm from an explosion in the lab? And did you know that she's trained in weaponless defense?" He stopped. His list could be summed up in one word. Superficial.

"Do you know why she's trained in weaponless defense?" Matt countered. When Grissom said nothing, he went on, "She was attacked at a crime scene. Nothing life-threatening; she was just roughed up. She dislocated her shoulder and she was sent to me for therapy. As soon as she was able, I recommended defense classes."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "What is it that you want exactly?"

"I want you to ask yourself if you're really the better man for her. What are you prepared to do…what are you prepared to sacrifice in order to make her happy? Happy like she deserves to be?"

He swallowed. "My relationship with Sara is…complicated." And, he wanted to add, none of anyone else's business.

"Translation: you're not willing to give up a damn thing." Matt thumped his fist against his chest. "I am. I let her go. I gave up six years of my own happiness so she could find hers. But she hasn't. You haven't made her happy."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Even to his own ears, Grissom's words were less than convincing. The younger man was hitting some sore spots.

"Even if you could make her happy for one moment, one night, maybe even a few days…could you keep it up? Can you live the day-to-day reality of being with her, supporting her, fighting with her, raising a family with her, giving up things for her…loving her sometimes more than you love yourself?"

"I…"

Matt interrupted him again. "If you care about her at all, you'll be honest with yourself. Are you prepared to make her the most important thing in your life? I'll admit that I don't know you very well…and I'm biased because I don't like you very much…but something tells me that if you haven't taken your chance by now, you never will. So if you're not going to…let me. Because I can do all those things. And I will." He stopped. "That's all I wanted to say. I won't bother you anymore." Another pause followed. "I'll see myself out."

The door shut behind him, leaving Grissom adrift in a sea of unwanted thoughts. He closed his eyes to block them out, but it didn't help. They were still there, pouring salt onto wounds he'd opened a long time ago. Wounds he'd tried to ignore when Sara pulled him into his bedroom.

Grissom opened his eyes, surprised to find them wet. He could boil everything down to one simple truth.

Matt Wilson had a point.

* * *

Sara was sitting up in his bed, looking deliciously rumpled. She loosely held the sheet up to her chest, a movement that was innocent in its seductiveness and heartbreaking in its shyness.

"What time is it?" she asked as he entered the room. "The clock's gone."

"Almost three." Grissom cleared his throat; something seemed to be caught in it. "Sara…we need to talk."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I'm continually unable to adequately express my thanks for all the people who take time out of their lives to read and review my stuff. I try to make my gratitude known here, and I hope it doesn't ever seem faked:) Thanks. I hope you enjoy this chapter, but I'm also realistic...

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves. – Eric Hoffer_

* * *

She arrived home as the sun was setting. She could remember driving around, but would have been hard pressed to name a street she might have turned down or a landmark that she might have passed. 

Closing her door, she locked it, slid the chain into place and dropped her keys in their usual spot. She didn't bother to turn the lights on as she moved through her apartment, towards her bathroom. She dropped clothes as she went, not caring where they fell.

She turned the hot water on all the way and stepped into the shower. Steam began to fill the room. The heat of the spray would have hurt if she could have felt it. She grabbed her sponge, added soap and started scrubbing.

_"I think…we just made a very big mistake."_

Sara wanted him off of her. Out of her. She wanted to wash him down the drain. Every last trace of him.

_"This happened too fast. We didn't think. We can't go from one extreme to the other in such a short space of time. At least I can't."_

When she started rubbing raw patches into her body, she turned the cool nozzle on, pressed her forehead against the tile, and began to sob. Her anguish echoed off the bathroom walls; the walls themselves shook when she pounded them with her fist.

_"We're no good for each other, Sara. I can't be your missing father figure. And you can't be my midlife crisis."_

The water was freezing by the time she stopped.

Sara stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. Back in the bedroom, she dropped the towel and reached for a bottle of lotion.

_"We gave in to a temptation that we've both felt, and now it's done. We need to move on. And maybe someday…we can be friends again."_

Slicking the lotion over her burned skin, she stared at herself in her mirror. Her hair dripped in brown rivers over her shoulders.

_He disappeared into his bathroom while she got dressed. She waited for about twenty minutes, sitting on the bed in which they'd fucked. Not made love like she'd thought. But the shower water didn't change his mind about anything, because he never came back into the bedroom. She'd let herself out._

Sara reached for a box on her dresser and opened it. Her fingers were still slippery from the lotion as she dug through cheap necklaces and dozens of mismatched earrings. Underneath the junk, she found what she was looking for

She'd tried to return it six years earlier, but he'd sent the package right back to her with a note that said it was bought for one person and belonged to one person. Something back then had kept her from selling it, and only now was she grateful for that.

Sara stared at Matt's engagement ring, seven thousand dollars worth of proof that at one time she'd been wanted. Worthy. Loveable.

She called the lab. "Judy," she said when the receptionist answered. "This is Sara. I'm not feeling well, so I won't be coming in tonight. Please let…" She couldn't say his name. Not just yet. "Please let the team know. Thanks."

Maybe it was the lotion, but when she slid the ring onto her finger, it still fit perfectly.

* * *

"Mr. Grissom!" Behind the reception desk, Judy waved her arms in a last ditch attempt to catch the CSI's eye. When he finally looked at her, something in his eyes told her to keep it short and make it quick. "Messages," she blurted, holding out a pile of pink slips. 

He snatched them up and moved off without a word. Judy breathed a sigh of relief, silently wishing the graveyard shift luck with their supervisor.

It was Grissom's habit to read his messages as he walked to his office, because generally if people saw he was engaged in some activity, they'd be less likely to approach him. It didn't always work, but generally it was a good deterrent.

Message from D.A.'s office regarding Butler case…memo from Ecklie about parking spaces…memo from Ecklie about PD versus lab softball game…message from Sara…memo from Ecklie about…

Grissom stopped in the middle of the hallway and flipped back to the previous message slip. "CSI Sidle out sick" and the date scribbled in Judy's handwriting. Not a lot. And yet, too much.

Sara had taken a night off. If it were anyone else, this could be explained away without another thought. But this was Sara. The woman who came in on her nights off…the woman who had two months of vacation time on the books…the woman who'd worked after a lab explosion and a hostage attempt by an insane rapist…she'd called in because of him.

He probably should have been relieved. He wasn't.

Grissom stuffed his messages into his jacket pocket and turned back around. As he passed by the receptionist desk, he barked at Judy, "I'll be late. Let Catherine know."

"But Mr. Grissom…" There was no point. He was already halfway out the door.

A block away from her apartment, he pulled off to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He found himself struggling for air, even in the spacious confines of his Denali.

"What are you doing?" Grissom asked himself out loud.

He couldn't go back now. He'd made a decision and it was too late to change his mind. There were invisible strings tying Sara to him, and he'd severed them with one clean strike. Because she was too stubborn to admit that she deserved better.

She was free now. So as much as he wanted to bang on her door until she forgave him for every cruel word, he just couldn't do it. Keeping her from a life she ought to have, simply because he loved her…that would be the cruelest thing he could do.

Grissom started his car and turned around. He drove past the lab and kept going, arriving a few minutes later at a place he usually tried to avoid.

He stared at the grey stone building for a long time before entering. He knew what he'd find inside. A moment's peace. A split second of complete and absolute reconciliation. Better than nothing.

It smelled the same as the one he'd frequented in his youth. Incense and guilt. This one was more old-fashioned; there were still dark booths in the back. He slipped into one quietly.

"Bless me, Father…" he began on the tail end of a shaky breath. "…for I have sinned. It's been twenty-one years since my last confession."

On the other side of the screen, the priest nodded. "Go on."

A long moment passed before he spoke. "I lied to someone…I care a great deal about. I did everything in my power to make her hate me. I hurt her, Father."

"Is this your only sin?"

"In twenty-one years?" Grissom choked back a rueful laugh. "No. But it's the only one that's mattered so far."

"Often we are doomed to repeat our sins if we do not understand them. Why did you so sin, my son?"

"Because I didn't want to break the tenth commandment, too." He closed his eyes. "Coveting what doesn't belong to me."

There were a few blissful seconds of sheer weightlessness after the priest absolved him, a spiritual high like none other he'd ever experienced. Once a junkie, always a junkie. But as soon as he passed through the church doors, he stepped back into the city of his sins. And he remembered why he'd abandoned the rituals of his youth.

Absolution was never as simple as ten Hail Mary's.

* * *

Sara woke in a cold sweat. A glance at her clock told her only an hour had passed since she'd laid down, sure that she'd never be able to sleep. 

Traces of a dream stayed with her. She lay in the dark, putting the jumbled pieces back together. Finally, she reached over and turned on her bedside lamp. Blinking back the light, Sara fumbled for her cell phone.

Matt answered on the second ring. "I'm sorry to call so late," Sara apologized immediately.

He sounded more awake than she did. "Don't worry about it. Are you at work?"

"No." She offered no further explanation. "I had a dream."

"One of your 'trapped in Jurassic Park' dreams?"

She almost smiled. "I haven't had one of those in years." He waited for her to go on. "I was walking through this house and I found a staircase. I started climbing it...but it just kept going. I felt like I was climbing forever. When I finally got to the top, there were two doors. One open; one closed. The open one led into a bedroom, nothing out of the ordinary."

"What door did you pick?" Matt asked.

"The closed one." Sara looked down the folds of her bedspread. "I opened the door…and behind it were more stairs."

"Better than a pack of raptors."

That made two near-smiles. "I was just about to start climbing them when I woke up." She shook her head. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. Other people's dreams are never interesting."

"I don't know about that." Matt paused. "Are you all right? You sound…sad."

"I'm okay."

He sounded skeptical. "Are you sure? Because I can be there in ten minutes with beer and _Xanadu._"

"You remember that?"

"Sara, the day won't ever come when I forget the most basic facts about you." He snickered. "Especially not your thing for really bad musicals from the 80's."

"It's an underrated classic," she protested.

"It has roller-skating goddesses."

This time, she allowed a smile to creep onto her face. "There is something you can do for me that doesn't involve Olivia Newton-John."

"Name it."

"I'm giving a dinner party for some of my friends next week." Sara drew in a breath. "Will you come? I'd like them to meet you. And, you know, you to meet them."

Matt hesitated for a moment. "Will this be a date?"

Sara didn't have to hesitate. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

She answered a question he'd asked her much earlier. "I am now."

* * *

To Be Continued 

A/N: "Trapped in Jurassic Park" dreams are a real problem facing many people these days. If you or someone you love has ever had the unfortunate experience of dreaming about being chased by a T-rex or hunted by a raptor, there is help. I hope. God, I hope.

Also, _Xanadu _freaking rocks. You probably just haven't watched it drunk.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Note: Thanks so much everyone! Please enjoy this chapter. Or try to, I guess:)

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Many attempts to communicate are nullified by saying too much. – Robert Greenleaf_

* * *

If she'd been the type of person to run away from her problems, Sara could have taken a two-month vacation with all the time she had stored up. But in the end, she simply couldn't take the chicken-shit way out. She gave herself one night to lick her wounds, but that was it. At the start of her next shift, she entered the lab, determined to leave everything personal at the door.

Unsurprisingly, that turned out to be easier said than done.

Nick was the first person she saw in the locker room. "Sara," he greeted her, surprised. "You're not at the hospital."

She frowned, wondering if she'd missed a page. "Should I be?"

"We figured you had to be at death imminent if you called in sick."

That earned him a deadly look. "At the risk of dating myself, 'that's so funny, I forgot to laugh.'"

Nick grinned. "Sorry."

Sara shrugged one shoulder. "It's okay." She hesitated, her hand on her locker's combination dial. "Did Grissom say anything about my absence?"

"Got me. He still hadn't clocked in by the time I went out to my scene." Nick paused. "Actually, I kind of thought…" He stopped himself.

"Thought what?" she asked softly.

Shaking his head, Nick closed his locker's door. "Nothing. Just runnin' my mouth." Another pause. "See you at assignments."

When he left, the room was too empty, too silent. Sara quickly stowed her bag and pulled her vest off its hangar. She'd just slipped it on when the door swung open and Grissom entered.

They froze at the exact same millisecond.

_He stopped at the last possible moment and looked down at her. His voice trembled with anticipation. "Honey…are you ready?"_

_Her hands stroked his upper back. "Please don't make me wait any longer."_

_"No more waiting," he promised. He kept his word a moment later when they came together, her gasp mingling with his groan._

Sara looked away first. Clearing her throat, she turned to face her locker and zipped up her vest. She could hear him copying her motions of a few minutes ago as he retrieved his own vest. Sara closed her eyes. He was too near. It was too soon. She had to get out of there.

But like he could sense her need to flee, Grissom finally spoke. "Are you feeling better?"

She turned her head slowly to stare at him. "You really just asked me that, didn't you?"

He fumbled with his zipper. When it wouldn't budge, he gave up on it with a sigh. "Sara…"

"I'm fine, Grissom. If that's what you need to hear…I'm okay." She slammed her locker door shut; the clash of metal on metal bounced off the walls. "Never better."

"Sara," he tried again. "Wait."

"For you?" Sara yanked the door open. "Not anymore."

She had her coffee perfectly doctored and was chatting with Greg about the merits of his favorite band of the week by the time he showed up for assignments. She felt secure in the knowledge that she'd be partnered with Catherine or one of the guys from then on, no exceptions.

But Grissom's predictability lay in his unpredictability. The first words out of his mouth were, "419 at the Palms. Sara, you're with me."

At least, in the future, she'd be able to better identify with women who killed men they'd once loved.

* * *

They worked in complete silence. Her cold-shoulder, though justified, caused an ache in the center of his chest like he'd never felt before. Still, even when they didn't speak, they never missed a beat. Apparently he hadn't succeeded in severing every connection they shared.

If pressed on the issue, he would have insisted that he arranged the assignments the way he had in order to avoid arousing suspicion in their teammates that there was friction between them. But it wouldn't have been the whole truth and nothing but. His real reasons were grounded in his own selfish need to be around her. He could push her away and make her hate him, but at the end of the day nothing could weaken his own feelings. Especially now that he knew her on a whole different level, one of infinite intimacy. Removing the mystery had done nothing to diminish the attraction.

With nimble fingers, Sara gently twirled her fingerprint brush over a glass coffee table. He didn't realize he was staring until David asked, "Are you ready for us to take him?"

Grissom blinked and focused on the young coroner. "Yeah. Yes. Go ahead."

When they were alone again, the silence became overwhelming. Even for him. "How are you doing over there?" he asked, shattering the icy quiet.

"It's a hotel," Sara replied monotonously.

He was desperate to keep what conversation there was going. "And that means…what?"

"I count thirty prints." She separated a tape lift and slapped it against the clear surface. "So far."

"The tourism board says that our hotels are getting cleaner every year, but no one's asking us for our statistics, are they?"

He might as well have been speaking to a wall. Five minutes later, he tried again.

"I have a blond hair and a brown hair and our vic was a red-head. What do you think? More questionable cleanliness? Or 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'?"

It took her a moment to reply. "My first year here, we were at a scene together and you didn't speak for three hours straight. I clocked you." Sara lifted her print and sealed it up. "At the time, it was the worst night of my life." She stood. "Now…it's not looking so bad."

"Where are you going?" he asked as she headed for the door with her kit.

She turned to face him. "I'm going with the body. Maybe you've convinced yourself that if you ignore the fact that we had sex two days ago, it somehow negates the act, but I'm not into denial. And I'm no masochist. I can't be here." She pulled off her gloves. "Have fun."

Grissom blinked. "You're expecting me to process the entire Real World suite on my own without missing anything?"

"On your own." Sara tipped her head to one side. "Isn't that how you like it?"

She left him with twenty-nine unlifted prints and enough guilt to drown in.

* * *

"All of this leads me to believe that I have to leave the hotel behind and find an apartment." Matt finished his story about the maid he caught going through his drawers and took a sip of coffee. "What do you think?"

Sara cut a strawberry in half with the edge of her spoon. "I think…that's pretty permanent."

They'd been meeting after her shift for breakfast for a week, but this was the first time the conversation had turned back to their undefined relationship.

"Would permanence be a bad thing?" he asked. "We are dating."

She swallowed the fruit, but tasted nothing. "Technically we won't be dating until tomorrow night. And even then we'll be having dinner with my three friends and their dates."

"Not exactly a picnic in Golden Gate Park at sunset."

Their eyes met in the middle of a memory. "No. Not quite." She glanced away.

Matt set down his cup and reached across the table for her hand. "Where are you these days, Sara? I look at you and it's like…I don't know. You won't let me connect."

Sara slipped her hand out from under his on the pretense of rubbing the back of her neck. "I keep having that same dream," she confessed. "The doors and the stairs. I try to make myself go through the door that leads into the bedroom. But I never do. I just take the closed door. And wind up with more stairs."

"All of a sudden I'm wishing I'd paid more attention in psychology class," he smiled.

"I'm not even sure I want to know what it means." She pushed her fruit bowl away. "What if dreams about stairs indicate seriously deviated personality flaws?"

Matt shrugged. "I like my women bad."

Sara rested her chin in her hand and studied him from across the table. He smiled under her scrutiny, and she decided it was time. "I need to tell you something."

"You have a tattoo? Wait, I already knew that one."

"I…" The words stuck in her throat at the last minute. He deserved to know what had happened between her and Grissom. He deserved to come into the second act of their relationship without the risk of stumbling over her baggage. Yet…she couldn't do it. Her one night with Grissom was a secret she'd keep, not for him, but for herself.

She needed it to be sacred. Or else it had just been a one night stand.

"When you start apartment searching, try Summerlin," Sara said after clearing her throat. "You'll spend some money, but it's worth it to avoid the tourists."

"How often do you find yourself called out to Summerlin?" Matt's eyes twinkled. "I need to look at this from all angles and that includes crime rate. You never know. Some day I might look to raise a family there."

Her strawberries weren't settling well. "You never know."

* * *

Grissom ate breakfast standing up in his kitchen. Instant oatmeal. He hadn't been able to stomach bran cereal since the morning she'd invited herself over and changed everything. When he was done, he rinsed out his bowl, set it in the half-full dishwasher and headed for the bathroom.

He emerged a few minutes later, washed, but feeling no cleaner.

When he reached into his drawer, his fingers touched plastic, buried in the middle of a stack of t-shirts. Right where he'd left it. Grissom hesitated before lifting it out.

She'd been in justifiable hurry to leave, so it was understandable that she'd left something behind. He'd only discovered it when he went looking for his own garments, the ones she'd pulled off of him in the heat of the moment.

Something told him he should have washed it days ago and discreetly returned it to her. But maybe he really was just an old pervert. He'd slipped it into a freezer bag instead.

Grissom opened the bag, releasing the faint scent of her perfume. The bra was made of navy blue lace. Dark and delicate. Just like Sara.

He was a fool, he decided. In so many more ways than just one.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Characters contained within in do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: For some reason this story just keeps flowing, while my other story is much, much slower to emerge. But it's coming along. I promise. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, as usual;) It definitely helps keep me going.

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Better to be alone than in bad company. – Thomas Fuller_

* * *

In the end, she set aside her own preferences for the sake of her guests and served chicken in an apricot glaze, wild mushroom rice pilaf, parmesan broccoli, and raspberry tiramisu for dessert. Just because it was a hundred times easier to call for take-out at the end of a long shift didn't mean she couldn't cook real food. 

Matt came over an hour early, with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of wildflowers. Sara, being way behind schedule, put him to work moving furniture to make room for the table she'd rented.

Just before the guys were due to arrive, Sara came out of the kitchen and was greeted with the sight of Matt putting the finishing touches on the table settings. He folded the final napkin and looked up at her with a smile.

The sheer domesticity of the scene flooded through her veins like ice water. To an outside eye, they could be just another young, married couple preparing their home for a quiet night in with friends.

Wasn't this what she'd run from six years earlier?

A knock disrupted her thoughts. Matt reached the door just as she did. "Sorry," he said, stepping back. "Old habits."

It was Greg and his date, a young rookie cop that Sara recognized as having recently worked crowd control at a public scene they'd worked. Greg had a wide grin on his face and a box of wine in his hand.

"Classy," Sara shook her head, accepting the gift.

"It's all fermented grape juice to me," he informed her. His attention shifted to the man at her side. "Who are you?"

Matt held out his hand. "Matt Wilson. I'm an…old friend of Sara's from San Francisco."

Greg shook it warily. "Greg Sanders. I took a shower with Sara once." Before Sara could rip him a new one, he introduced his date. "This is Summer Morris. I haven't showered with her yet, but I'm optimistic."

When Sara and Matt looked at her for a reaction, Summer shrugged. "He has a cute butt," she said in defense of her decision to date him.

"It's nice to see you again, Summer," Sara said, fighting back a smirk. "Come in, please."

Warrick arrived with Tina five minutes later. Sara had met her friend's wife only very briefly at the lab. She was pretty and intelligent, on the surface a good match for Warrick. But there was something in the way she looked at her husband's co-workers that didn't settle right with Sara. It was like she was viewing them as competition for Warrick's attention. Sara just hoped the woman never asked him to pick between her and the lab. She had a feeling Tina would lose.

Nick was the only one to press Matt into further identifying himself. When he showed up with his date, a pit boss named Breanna, he shook Matt's hand with even more suspicion than Greg had. "An old friend?" he repeated, shooting Sara a look. "Co-worker? Neighbor? Chess buddy?"

"None of the above," Sara said, firmly putting an end to the interrogation. "Thanks for the wine." She held up the bottle Nick had brought. "And thanks even more that it's not in cardboard."

"Hey!" Greg said from across the living room. "I'm gonna pour a glass from mine and his and see if you can even tell the difference."

This seemed to break the ice a bit, and over cocktails and appetizers, the four couples chatted amicably.

Then Greg suddenly decided to pick up where Nick had been forced to stop. "You know, not much is known about Sara Sidle B.V." He clarified. "Before Vegas. Maybe you can shed some light on the subject, Matt."

Sara cleared her throat. "As much as I love being considered a mystery…"

Nick watched Matt from over the rim of his highball glass. "For instance…are you an old friend of Grissom's, as well?"

"I'm not in law enforcement," Matt replied evenly.

"So how do you know our girl?" Warrick chimed in. Tina tightened her grip on his hand.

Matt and Sara exchanged another look. "We were engaged," Sara answered. There was a long moment of silence. "More cheese anyone?"

* * *

Nick caught up with Sara in the kitchen after the dinner plates had been cleared. She was spooning the tiramisu into dessert cups with the same precision she exercised when adding chemicals to test tubes in the lab. 

"Need any help?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "I've got it, thanks."

Undaunted, he approached the counter at which she stood. "You throw a pretty good dinner party. I half expected to choke down some tofu."

"How can you be so sure that you didn't?" she said with a wink.

"Texans know meat." A moment passed before Nick folded his arms across his chest. "All this time we've worked together, I thought I knew you pretty well, Sara."

Sara paused as she added whipped cream to the top of each dessert. It would be an insult to his intelligence to make him spell everything out. "I never told anyone about Matt," she assured him.

"Not even Grissom?"

She was almost immune to his name; she was pretty sure there was no inflection in her voice when she said, "Not even Grissom." Straightening her shoulders, she added, "Although he knows now."

"What happened?" Nick clarified, "With Matt."

"Bad timing. Cold feet. The opportunity to work in the number two lab in the country." Sara placed a sprig of mint on the desserts. "The usual stuff."

"Did you love him?" Sara said nothing, so he pushed further. "Do you love him?"

For the first time since he'd entered the kitchen, she really looked at him. If she was going to have this deep of a conversation with any of her co-workers, she could only be truly honest with Nick. "I want the life that loving him would give me."

"What life is that?"

She glanced away. "You know…a family, children, someone who loves me back." Sara bit her lip. "Don't you dare laugh, but I want all those girly things."

"You can have all of that. I can't say it won't be weird seeing you with a baby on your hip instead of a Glock, but you can have it, Sara." Nick paused. "But with him? I don't know."

Her forehead pulled into a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I wish I had an example of what he did or said. But it's not that simple." Nick shrugged. "I just don't like something about him. I mean, if I'm getting this history right, you left him in San Francisco to come here five, six years ago? And he just showed up…what? A couple of weeks ago? Out of the blue?"

"He missed me."

"It's just sudden."

Sara turned on him. "You know…it's not a bad thing, being missed. Feeling like at least one person in the world cares about you more than they care about themselves." Her voice faltered. "Or their career." When she started again, she was steadier. "You've know him for two hours. Can you at least wait until after dessert to start judging him?"

"Fair enough." Nick reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. She covered it with hers in silent forgiveness. After a moment, he nodded towards the dessert cups. "Can I at least help you carry those out?"

When everyone had been served, Sara sat down to eat on the couch next to Matt. He slipped his free hand around her waist. In front of her friends, it was a declaration.

* * *

"You do realize that Greg has a crush on you, right?" 

In the aftermath of the dinner party, Matt had opted to stick around, in order to help clean up. Sara had four empty coffee cups hanging off of her fingers; she laughed at Matt's statement. "I've always tried not to encourage him, but yeah. I know."

"Nick and Warrick, too. Not a crush so much on their parts, but they adore you." He carried the dessert dishes into the kitchen right behind her. "I've gotta say, I feel a whole lot better now that I know they're with you when you're at a scene."

Sara shot him a look. "I take care of myself just fine when I work solo."

He came up behind her. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he touched the shoulder that a perp had twisted violently enough to dislocate…the site of the injury that had brought them together. "Of course you do," he soothed.

They worked in silence until the dishwasher was full and running, and the extra dishes had been hand washed and dried. While Matt moved the furniture back into its usual order, Sara took a moment to consider the evening.

Her first effort as hostess had gone over surprisingly well. Her guests had gotten along and no one had displayed any symptoms of food poisoning yet. The only sticky part of the evening had been the disclosure of her one-time engagement.

As expected, her friends reacted characteristically to the news. Warrick had nodded, like he'd suspected something of the sort all along; he was far too laissez-faire to be caught off guard by anyone's past. Nick had stared at her as he silently digested the idea that she'd been keeping such a big secret; he was far too honest to ever assume that a friend wouldn't be the same.

Greg had blinked, something akin to hurt in his eyes. He knew very well that there couldn't have ever been anything more than innocent flirting between them. But in that moment, Sara realized that he'd always assumed this was the case because of Grissom. Knowing that she'd been serious with Matt meant that it wasn't a case of unrequited love that kept her at arm's length, but a lack of a deeper attraction.

As the evening progressed, she'd seen some of that hurt dissipate as Summer proved to be a smart, funny, attractive date. Maybe there would be a future there for her friend.

She came back into the living room and found Matt pulling on his coat, preparing to leave. Her apartment, which had been so full of friends and food, conversation and camaraderie…so full of life only a short while ago, was about to be as empty as it always was. She realized right then that she couldn't spend another night alone.

"Don't go," Sara said softly. Matt paused as he adjusted his coat's collar. There was a question in the look he gave her. She answered it, "I'm not ready for sex. I just…could you just stay with me?"

His own answer was to remove his coat.

Hours later, Sara woke from the dream of the stairs and doors. Something was different this time, but she couldn't put enough of the hazy fragments together to figure out what.

She tried to roll over, but she was pinned into place by something warm and muscular. Matt's arm. It was his breath against the nape of her neck, his scent wrapped up in her sheets, his hard chest against her back.

When the tears started, she couldn't stop them. She was spooned up against a gorgeous, athletic, prime example of manhood, most women's fantasy come true.

Yet all she wanted was the comforting softness of another man's older, less fit body.

* * *

Another bottle of scotch, another undeniable urge to hear the sound of her voice. Grissom fought it for what seemed like hours. But by the time he'd worked through a third of the bottle, he could no longer deny himself anything. 

Oblivious to the early morning hour, he dialed and let it ring.

"Hello?"

Even through the fog of alcohol, he knew it wasn't Sara who had answered the phone. It was a man. A man who'd just been woken up.

"Is anyone there?" the sleep-heavy male voice continued. "Hello?"

Grissom pressed a numb finger against the talk button, ending the call. He recognized the voice. It was Matt Wilson. He'd spent the night at Sara's.

The phone hit the floor. He poured another shot and raised it to himself. When he put effort into something…be it academics, an investigation, or pushing the woman he loved into another man's arms…he always achieved his goal.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks so much everyone for reading my story. I know the angst is...well...thick, but I hope you're still enjoying it;) Take care until next time!

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get even less than you settled for. – Maureen Dowd_

* * *

"Where the hell is it?" 

Sara threw a handful of bras back into her top drawer. It was a sign of just how frustrated she was at being unable to find her favorite one that she was actually talking to herself.

Bracing her hands on the edge of the drawer, she ran down the list of possible places the garment could be. It wasn't with her clean clothes. It wasn't with her dirty clothes. It wasn't under her bed. It wasn't in her bathroom. It wasn't in the washer or the drier, or around, underneath or behind either appliance. It wasn't in her locker at the lab. It wasn't in her gym bag. It wasn't…

She stopped as she suddenly recalled the last time she'd worn the bra.

_His fingers fumbled with the clasp. She tried to reach back to help, but he got a frustrated little frown on his face. Male pride was delicate matter. She leaned into his chest and let him work on it. As impatient as she was to be skin to skin with him, it was also wonderful to have his arms around her. She pressed her lips against the warm nape of his neck and…_

"Shit."

The options available to her were limited. Blow another hundred bucks on a replacement, granted that the store still had the right color, design and size in stock. Or ask Grissom if he'd found it.

Her bank account would survive. She wasn't so sure about her heart.

But it was her favorite. A rare indulgence she'd allowed herself. And even if she could get another one, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't carry the memory of how he'd pulled it from her body or how his eyes had devoured the flesh it had covered.

Sara cursed again. There was only one option left.

* * *

It was always easier to bury yourself in work when there was a lot of work to bury yourself in. For Grissom, that meant a body found in the mountains with extensive insect activity. The linear regressions on each species kept him occupied for several days. He emerged from his office on the fourth day for the most mundane of reasons. 

He was out of mounting pins.

The supply room was little more than a walk-in closet, further cramped by the two shelves which held everything from paperclips to canisters of film. There was a narrow aisle between them, barely big enough for one person to fit through. The room was dark and smelled like stale paper and cleansing fluid.

Grissom didn't hear her come in; he was digging way in the back for a box of pins. His head was halfway buried in the steel shelving unit. When he heard her voice calling, "Grissom," he tried to stand up straight, but only succeeded in banging his head against the metal.

"Are you okay?" Sara reached for him, but at the last second she pulled back.

He rubbed away the throbbing pain and cleared his throat. "I'm fine." The worried look on her face bolstered his spirits for a few seconds…until he remembered why he was currently burying himself in so much work. "What do you want?"

"Ink cartridge for the printer," she replied softly.

They both realized at the same time that the ink cartridges were stored at the far end of the room. She was going to have to pass him in order to reach them.

He tried to flatten himself against the shelves as much as possible, and as she walked, she tried to do the same against the opposite shelf. Still, it was the closest they'd been to each other since the night they'd spent together.

What little space there was between them crackled with invisible electricity. As she inched past him, Grissom looked up at the ceiling. Anything to keep still. But when she was squarely in front of him, Sara stopped.

"Grissom," she tentatively began. "I lost…something. And the last place I can remember having it was…your place."

He looked down, but the first thing he saw was her chest. Quickly, he averted his gaze. "What was it?"

Sara was quiet for a moment. "I think you know."

The fresh scent of her shampoo surrounded him. "I'm not so sure."

"Why are you going to make me say it?" Her forehead crinkled. "It was a bra, all right? Navy blue, expensive as all hell, and you stripped it off of me before we fucked. You do remember that, don't you?"

He said nothing.

"Fine. You know what? Keep it. Mount it on the wall with your butterflies. I don't give a damn any…"

He cut her off by grabbing her arms and hauling her body against his. They were magnets, and he couldn't fight the attraction anymore. He didn't think of it so much as going back on his decision to set her free. He was simply reclaiming all the areas he'd annexed. She fought him for the few seconds it took for his mouth to seek out hers. And then it was all he could do to keep up with her.

Limbs twisted around limbs and suddenly the already stuffy room was unbearably hot. Sara whimpered as his lips broke away and forged a path to her ear. The breathy sound of yearning thrilled him all the way down his spine. He had her pinned against the shelf; his legs had kicked hers apart and she was practically straddling his thighs. Reason and common sense took a backseat to burning need.

She left a sweetness on his lips that he craved. Having her in his arms was like coming home after a long day. There was no system of measurement that could gage how much he wanted to keep going and never stop. How much he wanted to never let her go again. To make her forget Matthew Wilson's very name.

_You haven't made her happy…can you live the day-to-day reality of being with her…if you haven't taken your chance by now, you never will._

To create a perfect world where they could be together.

She clutched at him. "Close the door," she whispered throatily. "Please…"

Unconsciously, he'd started to tug at the button on her black pants. Her request pushed him over the edge, back into his sanity. Or at least what passed for it. He couldn't do this to her. Not again.

"Sara. We can't." He brought his hand up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't have…" Grissom paused. "I need you to listen, and really hear me." A moment ticked by in silence as he prepared the hardest words he'd ever had to utter. "Eventually…when you have a husband who worships you and children who adore you…you'll be grateful that you didn't waste any more of your time on an old man who plays with bugs."

They remained locked together until Sara had recovered enough to push him away. She pushed harder than necessary; his back hit the opposite shelf. Straightening her shirt, she walked to the back of the room, grabbed an ink cartridge, and stalked back past him.

At the door, she stopped and looked back. "Tomorrow night, you're going to have my request for a shift transfer on your desk. I'd like days, but swing would be okay." Her eyes were glassy as she continued, "I'm not a masochist, but I'm definitely a glutton for punishment." Sara let out a sad laugh. "I should probably work on that."

The door slammed shut behind her.

Grissom closed his palm around a box of straight pins. In one swift motion, he crushed the cardboard in his hand and sent the pins flying.

* * *

Three kinds of meat. Two cheeses. Lettuce. Tomato. Mayo. Mustard. Lightly toasted sourdough bread. Greg was five seconds away from biting into the world's most perfect sandwich when Nick entered the break room, determination in his stride. 

"Greggo," he said loudly. "Put the food down. I need to talk to you."

"Even rookies get breaks," Greg reminded him. "Besides, I need to refuel. In case you haven't heard, I have a new lady in my life." He waggled his eyebrows. "I think you know what that…"

Nick held up his hand. "I got it. You're getting laid. Congrats." He paused. "This is important."

"What's going on?"

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure their conversation wasn't being overheard, Nick slipped into the chair next to Greg's. "I've started running some background checks on that Wilson guy."

"Matt?" Greg set down his lunch with a frown. "If Sara finds out, she'll have your nuts removed."

"It's already proven to be worth the risk."

He picked up a sliver of ham that fell out from the sandwich. "You found something?"

Nick nodded. "It took a lot of serious-ass digging, but yeah." He paused. "Back in 2000, just after they got engaged, Matt Wilson filled out papers for a life insurance policy on his fiancée, Sara Sidle." Another pause. "It would have gone into effect on their wedding day."

"How much?"

"A quarter of a million dollars."

Greg swallowed. "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"C'mon, Greg. Think about it. Even if he wasn't planning to bump her off, he knows the dangers of the job. The whole reason they met was because she was attacked on a scene. How much do you want to bet that at the very least, he figured it would just be a matter of time?"

"But it's been six years since they were together."

"Exactly! Look, we all know why she really came here."

Greg sulked. "Grissom."

"And he had to have known that. But he shows up six years after being thrown over for another man and acts like nothing ever happened?" Nick shook his head. "I don't buy it. He wants something. Maybe 250,000 somethings."

"We're jumping to an awful lot of conclusions here."

Nick shrugged. "Yeah. But…it's Sara."

"Yeah." Greg picked up his sandwich, but quickly set it down again, having lost his appetite. "Okay, before we go any further with this…how do you explain the fact that he did wait for six years?"

A moment passed before Nick blew out a breath. "Got me." He stood up a second later with renewed energy. "But I'm gonna find out."

Greg wasn't able to wait long before he jumped up and followed.

* * *

In true Las Vegas fashion, when it rained, it poured. 

Sara pulled into the parking lot of the diner where she usually met Matt for breakfast just as the heavens opened, shedding tears over the city. Two seconds after she got out of her car, she was thoroughly waterlogged. She entered the diner dripping wet. Ignoring the waitresses who shot her dirty looks for the puddles she left behind, Sara walked to the back booth where Matt was already waiting with coffee.

"Honey, you're soaked," he said, concerned. "Sit down and get warm."

Water dripped off the dark ends of her hair as she remained in place. "Matt," she said hoarsely. She closed her eyes. The tears she'd been holding back disappeared into the leftover raindrops coursing down her cheeks. "Will you marry me?"

There was a flash of lightning followed by the distant rumble of thunder. "Did something happen tonight?"

She shook her head and just kept shaking it, flinging droplets everywhere. "I made a mistake six years ago. I know I can't go back and do it all over again…but you're here and I'm here and…" Sara opened her eyes. "I can't climb any more stairs."

Matt reached for her hand and gazed up at her intently. "Okay. Let's get married."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful feedback;) I hope you keep enjoying the story. I know the angst is thick, but who doesn't love the angst every now and then?

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state." - George Eliot_

* * *

"With the authority invested in me by the great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your lovely bride."

The new husband did just that, dipping her low and planting one smack on her lips, much to the delight and applause of the chapel's other patrons.

In the back of the room, Matt turned to Sara. "I promise not to do that when it's our turn."

"Good. Thanks." She looked down at the papers she held; her palms were sweaty all of a sudden. Afraid to smudge the ink, Sara handed him the incomplete marriage license. "Here."

He took it and read it over, a small smile on his face. "Gotta love Vegas. All of this and a steak buffet, too."

The mention of meat turned her already queasy stomach. Sara tucked her damp palms under her arms as the next couple approached the notary public who served as the chapel's official. No pretenses of love or spirituality here. Marriage on the Strip was a business arrangement. If you had the money and the inclination and opposing genitalia, you could enter into a binding, legal contract and be back at work by the end of your lunch break. She appreciated the raw simplicity.

Matt nudged her with his elbow. "You know, if this isn't what you want, we can leave right now. I realize all of this isn't exactly the stuff of childhood dreams."

"True," she said. "And you're not Rick Springfield." When he frowned, she went on, "That's who I was supposed to marry. On the beach. In the dress Sandy wore to the dance in Grease."

His eyes twinkled. "It always comes back to Olivia."

Sara looked down at her black work pants and a V-neck black shirt. Well, she shouldn't be wearing virgin white, anyways.

The second couple in under twenty minutes was pronounced husband and wife, and another round of applause lit up the room. Sara glanced at Matt. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"I've never had second thoughts about you, Sara."

She knew. But she also knew that, more than any deep feelings in her heart, was the reason they were there.

"Would the Sidle-Wilson party please come to the altar," one of the chapel's attendants asked over the loudspeaker.

"This is your last chance to have Rick," Matt said softly.

Sara's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. "He hasn't aged very well."

"Last call for Sidle-Wilson."

She wiped her hand on her knee and slipped it into his. Matt lifted the back of her knuckles up for a kiss. "Lucky me," he whispered. "I got Jesse's girl."

* * *

"Hey, Gris. You got a minute?"

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Nick was already lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of his boss's desk. Grissom sighed and closed up the final report on the bugs from his body in the mountains. "What's on your mind, Nick?"

One of the things he appreciated about the CSI's around whom he'd surrounded himself was their straightforward approach to difficult topics. Nick was no different; he rarely hemmed and never hawed. But he was certainly the most understated and polite of the team members. Maybe it was a Southern thing.

So Grissom was fairly surprised when Nick, with a distinct glower on his face, said, "That ex of Sara's. I don't like him."

Join the club, Grissom was tempted to say. But in a rare display of diplomacy, he simply inclined his head. "What is it about him that bothers you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that he planned to take out a 250,000 dollar insurance policy on Sara six years ago?"

His calm exterior slipped a notch. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right. Would've been effective the moment she said 'I do.' And if anything happened to her from then on, he would have gotten a quarter mil." Nick glowered. "That's not chump change."

Grissom agreed. But at the same time, 250,000 dollars was an insulting figure to attach to Sara's life. There was no monetary figure high enough to even begin to calculate her worth.

"Husbands and wives do it all the time," he told Nick.

"Yeah. And how many times have we busted someone for killing their husband or wife to get their hands on the money a little earlier than nature intended?"

He couldn't argue with that either. In fact, the very idea in relation to Sara made his blood run cold. Grissom found himself clinging to the one thing that had never let him down or led him astray.

"Do you have any evidence that his intentions are less than honorable?" When Nick said nothing, he sighed. "No, then."

Nick stared at him for a moment. "You're taking this a whole hell of a lot better than I thought you would. I really figured you'd…care a little more."

"You think I don't care?"

"I think I've seen you get more emotional when someone forgets to refill the coffee pot."

Grissom frowned. "What do you want me to do, Nick?"

The look he received from the younger man was pointed. "Talk to her. She deserves to know about all of this. Especially if she's thinking about getting back together with him."

"Do you think she is?" Grissom's question was spoken so softly that Nick had to strain to hear it at all.

After a moment's pause, Nick inclined his head. "They seem pretty close."

Grissom accepted the salt that poured onto his open wounds. "So…not only do you want me to ruin her future happiness, you want me to force her to question her entire past with this man." He shook his head. "I won't do it."

"But…"

Grissom cut him off. "Don't ask me again. I have limits to just how heartless I can be and still live with myself."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Nick spoke. "Why didn't you tell her that you love her years ago?"

"Did you need anything else?"

The younger man shook his head. "No." He stood up. "Guess I'll be taking care of this myself."

Before he left, Grissom called out, "She deserves to be happy, Nick." There was a lump in his throat as he went on, "But if you find something…"

Nick still had too much respect for his boss to let him beg for anything. "I won't let anything happen to her. I promise."

Grissom released a breath when Nick was gone. If he wanted any sort of friendship with Sara, he would have to accept her blossoming relationship with Matt Wilson.

But if Matt Wilson had any nefarious objectives where Sara was concerned, he would kill the man with his bare hands and sleep well that night.

* * *

Conrad Ecklie liked to think of himself as a people person. It sounded good for when his name was volleyed around important circles. Unfortunately, being a people person meant occasionally being forced to interact with people he didn't like very much. When his secretary informed him that CSI Sidle was waiting to speak to him just before the swing shift came on duty, it took a lot of willpower to keep from telling the woman to blow off Grissom's pet.

With gritted teeth, he said, "Send her in, Myra."

What was it about Sara Sidle, besides her complete lack of respect for his authority, that irked him so much? She was a decent criminalist with a solve record that demanded even his deference. She'd never done anything to publicly embarrass the lab. Her pathetically one-sided obsession with Grissom ensured that she didn't sleep around. She did max out on overtime every month, but that didn't make her unique on Grissom's shift of annoying overachievers.

Funny how everything kept coming back to Grissom.

She entered with her back straight, her chin level and her gait confident. Most people slunk into his office. If he'd liked her more, he would have been pleasantly surprised by her poise, even in the wake of their recent bad history.

"Have a seat, Sidle," he ordered, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

Sara accepted, lowering herself into a seat with fluid grace. The woman did have some damn long legs which she crossed casually. "Thanks for seeing me without an appointment," she began. There was a tinge of sarcasm in her words. "I hope you've had a chance to look over my request for a shift transfer."

He had, but he was torn between granting her request and doing some new damage to Grissom's team, or punishing her for past transgressions by making her stay right where she was. Even people persons could hold grudges.

"Yes, I have. But before I make a decision, I need to understand your reasons." He leaned back in his chair. "Are you having a problem with the graveyard shift, Sidle?"

Her face was expressionless. "I'm ready for a change."

"Have you spoken to Supervisor Grissom about this…need for change?"

She nodded slightly. "He supports my decision."

"Really?" Ecklie was understandably skeptical. Just about a year earlier, Grissom had stood before him and announced that he was willing to be fired in this woman's place rather than lose her. Maybe that crush of Sidle's wasn't entirely one sided… "It's been my impression that Gil considers you a valuable member of his team. For some reason."

"I'd be just as valuable to the swing or day shifts."

He smiled with what he considered great patience. "I'll certainly be taking this into consideration when I make my final decision." There was a pause. "Was that all you needed to discuss?"

For the first time since she'd walked in, Sara's mask of composure slipped a bit. "Actually, no. I'd also like to put in a request…for vacation time. Two weeks."

Ecklie sighed. "Sidle, I know you don't take much time off, but even you should know that vacation requests go through your supervisor. Put it in writing and let Gil deal with it."

Instead of getting up and leaving like anyone else would have, Sara remained seated. "I realize this goes against protocol. But I'd appreciate it if you'd make an exception this time."

"Why?" He crossed his arms. "And it had better be good."

She looked down at her hands and he noticed a flash of gold on her left ring finger that had definitely never been there before.

It wasn't a lot of ammo, but it was definitely worth something in the on-going war he was silently waging against the graveyard shift's supervisor.

Ten minutes later, he called Myra into his office. There was one sure-fire way to spread inside information around the lab, and it lay in his secretary's inability to keep her mouth shut. "CSI Sidle will be taking off two weeks for her honeymoon starting on Monday. She'd prefer to keep this under wraps, Myra, so in your memo to Supervisor Grissom, just tell him she'll be out on personal time."

He figured Grissom would find out his favorite CSI was a newlywed by the end of his shift that night. At the very latest.

* * *

Whoever was pounding on his door at six in the morning was just asking for it. As Brass rolled out of the bed he'd only rolled into an hour earlier, and pulled on a robe, his sleepy mind contemplated what "it" might be. By the time he reached the door, he hadn't settled on any punishment quite horrible enough for the person who was still slamming their fist against his door.

He ripped the chain out of its slide, flipped the deadbolt and yanked the door open, prepared to release his fury. But what he saw took the very wind out of his sails.

"Gil?"

The man on his doorstep looked up at the sound of his name, but his red-rimmed eyes focused on nothing. Brass knew this look. He just never would have thought to attach it to his perpetually cool, calm and collected friend.

But when Grissom spoke, his breath told the story of his last few hours. Whiskey, Brass figured. And a lot of it. He was barely standing on his own; in fact, without the support of the door's frame, he'd have been on the ground.

It was a sad, sad sight.

"I lost her, Jim."

He didn't need to ask who. The rumor of Sara's quickie marriage had already reached PD. Brass sighed. He reached out and grabbed Grissom's limp arm. Throwing it around his shoulder, he half-dragged the man into the house.

"She's his now," Grissom went on, every word slurred with alcohol and anguish. "She's his. Not mine. I lost her…I made her go away."

Brass let him fall onto the couch. He landed face down. "Ah, hell." With another sigh, he jerked him upright. Grissom slumped down into the cushions. "I'll make coffee."

He used double the amount of coffee when he set the pot up. Even from the kitchen, he could hear his inebriated guest going on. "I love her…couldn't let her love me." Brass came back into the living room. "She's so damn pretty…too good…too young. Deserves better, you know."

"You'll never remember this, so I'm gonna ask something I've been wondering about for a long time." He paused. "What the good god-damn hell is wrong with you, Gil?"

Shaking his head, all Grissom could moan was, "Sara…"

After forcing two cups of coffee into his friend, Brass put an empty trashcan next to the couch and left him to sleep it off.

Maybe it was a good thing that by marrying someone else, Sara had broken whatever destructive rut they'd gotten themselves into, before they turned each other into complete alcoholics.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: A thousand thanks for all the positive feedback;) Please keep reading with the same enthusiasm!

* * *

Someone Else's Star 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Anyone must see at a glance that if men and women marry those whom they do not love, they must love those whom they do not marry. – Harriet Martineau_

* * *

In the morning, Brass grudgingly mixed up a batch of pancakes, his all-purpose hangover cure. If there was any alcohol left in Grissom's system when he woke up, these double-batter babies would soak it right up. 

He took no pains to be quiet as he moved about the kitchen, hoping that the noise would wake the man sleeping on his couch. To his great relief Grissom had not needed the trashcan he'd provided during the night. The man was his friend, but certain boundaries needed to remain between them.

Brass was plating up the pancakes when Grissom stirred. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and instantly grabbed his head.

"Aspirin's on the coffee table," Brass called out. "I'd take three."

He did, with the help of the glass of water that had been drawn for him. "Thanks," he muttered a moment later.

"Feel up to eating something?" When Grissom shook his head, wincing with each movement, Brass continued, "Yeah, that wasn't so much a question."

Because Grissom wasn't quite ready to stand, Brass brought him a plate and forced it into his hands along with a fork.

"These are horrible," Grissom said after the first couple of bites.

"Any resemblance I bear to Emeril Lagasse is purely coincidental." Brass paused as Grissom choked down another mouthful. "Feel up to talking?"

"I take it that's not a question either?"

Brass sat back in an overstuffed chair. "Consider it what you owe me for room and board for the night." Another pause. "Who told you about Sara?"

Grissom stared down at his plate. "Overheard it in the hallway. The downside to being a ghost is that sometimes people don't realize you're there. And so they just keep talking about their co-worker taking two weeks off for her honeymoon." He swallowed, but something seemed stuck in his throat. And it wasn't the pancakes. "Her honeymoon, Jim. She's married."

"So I heard." Curiosity overcame him. "Do you know the guy?"

It took him awhile given his current state, but eventually he outlined the basic history of Matt Wilson in relation to Sara. Jim listened with a raised eyebrow. When Grissom stopped, he had only one thing to say. "You realize that if you hadn't chickened out years ago, this guy wouldn't even be in the picture now."

He set his plate onto the coffee table. "'Chickened out' is hardly the right phrase."

"No, I think it works just fine. You as much as admitted it yourself awhile back." Grissom frowned. "C'mon, Gil. Debbie Marlin. Lurie's interrogation. I was there." He paused. "So was Sara."

Grissom nodded dully. "I know." He looked away from his friend's accusing glare. "I thought she'd give up on me if she heard…everything."

"Shit. She came for Lurie's confession, and got to hear your rejection instead." Brass shook his head. "No wonder she turned to the bottle." He sighed. "Well…water under the bridge now. Right?" He pointed to his plate. "You done?"

Instead of handing it over, Grissom went on, "What could I have given her, Jim?"

"Depends. What did she ask for?"

His voice was hardly more than a whisper. "A chance."

"There you go." Brass pried the plate out of his friend's hands. "I gotta be at the station in an hour. Can I trust you to lock up and get home on your own?"

He must have been feeling better because Grissom gave him a patented look.

When he left the house forty-five minutes later, his guest was still sitting on the couch. The television was tuned to the Discovery Channel. He was watching with glassy eyes.

"…this lizard roams the wilderness alone most of the year. As the shift in daylight hours and rising temperatures cue the shingleback skink that spring is here, it will seek its mate. The same pair of lizards end up together year after year, mating and sharing hideaways together, and then going their separate ways once the mating season is over…"

All Brass could do was shake his head. Gil Grissom. Brilliant scientist. Intuitive investigator.

Dumb shit.

* * *

"I hear congratulations are in order." 

Sara's head shot up from her microscope. "What?"

Warrick smiled. Only Sara could get so involved in work that she'd actually forget she was getting ready to leave on her honeymoon. "Aren't you supposed to be out of here?"

"Tomorrow. I'm just finishing up."

He chose not press further. Sara's reasons for working during the day when everyone on their shift was at home sleeping were her business, not his. But there was a melancholy air about her that didn't fit a bride. Puzzled by this, Warrick entered the room.

"So, where are you going?"

She blinked. "Um…not sure." Yanking off her gloves suddenly, Sara sighed. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore." She rubbed her eyes with both hands. "Or even what case I'm on."

"I get that. Missed out on a lot of sleep myself during the first couple of weeks," Warrick grinned. "Eventually you settle into more of a…routine. My best advice, enjoy it while it lasts."

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Time off should help, too."

"Sara..." He perched on the edge of her workstation. "Out of everyone, I probably understand the most why you did it this way and didn't tell anyone. I just want you to know that it's all good. Long as you're happy."

When she looked up at him, his trained eye caught a faint quiver in her lower lip. "Thanks."

Warrick dug into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm sorry it's not bigger or better wrapped. We didn't really have a lot of notice, but Tina and I both wanted to get you something…so here."

Sara took the rectangle of cardboard, instantly recognizing the logo. She unfolded it to reveal a one hundred dollar gift card to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Her hand trembled. "I can't accept this."

"Yeah, I know. It's not a store that screams Sara Sidle. But take it from this old, married man…having separate bathroom cups and soap dishes matters. I don't know why it matters, but you'll be grateful for them."

She shook her head. "No, you don't understand." Standing up, Sara strained her neck to whisper something in Warrick's ear.

When she pulled back, it was his turn to blink. "What happened?"

Sara sat back down and started talking.

* * *

_Two days earlier_

"Sidle-Wilson?"

The man, a notary public granted the authority to marry couples by the state rather than a higher being, looked bored. He hid a yawn behind his hand as Sara and Matt approached him.

Her heart thudded so hard she was sure the entire wedding chapel could hear it. An equally bored looking attendant thrust a well-used bouquet of flowers into her hands. Fake flowers.

"There's no greater power on this earth than the power of love." The man recited the words from memory, in a flat tone that indicated just how many times he'd done this. "When you find that love, it's up to you to recognize it, work for it, and cherish it. We're gathered here today to celebrate the joyous fact that…" He stopped to look down at his list. "…Sara and Matthew have done this. In the chaos of life, they have found each other."

_She should have sat closer to the front. By the time she even gathered her pages and pages of notes together, a crowd had already formed around their lecturer. But she would not be dissuaded. She had questions that he hadn't had time to answer._

_Using her elbows to push people aside, Sara fought her way through the crowd. But apparently everyone else was just as determined to speak to the man. She felt herself trip over something (or someone) and she went down. Her notes scattered and were trampled. On her knees, she frantically grabbed for pages._

_"Is this yours?" Dr. Gil Grissom scanned her notes from behind wire rimmed glasses that perfectly framed a pair of cornflower blue eyes. "Hm. Interesting interpretation of my lecture."_

_Sara rose to her feet. They were almost the same height. A blush spread on her cheeks at having the renowned scientist read her notes. "They're just observations based on my own limited experience. I'm a rookie CSI out of San Francisco." She tucked her mangled notes under her arm and held out her hand. "Sara Sidle."_

_His hand was cool and dry. "Gil Grissom."_

_The crowd disappeared. Oh, they were still there, but she was suddenly, inexplicably unaware of anyone else but him. "I have a few questions, Doctor," she blurted out. "Could we maybe get a cup of coffee and talk?"_

"Matt, do you take Sara to be your lawfully wedded wife until death do you part?"

Sara felt his warm gaze on her and she tried not to look away. "I do," Matt said firmly.

"And Sara, do you take Matt to be your lawfully wedded husband until death do you part?"

Silence fell over the chapel.

After a moment, Matt's look took on a distinct edge of worry. "Sara? Honey, what…?"

There was a stain on the petals of one of the flowers that made up her bouquet. It looked like coffee or tea. A cardboard Cupid shooting an arrow through a heart that read 'Be Mine' was thumb-tacked to the wall. She was in the same clothes she'd worn to work that day. The man who was marrying them hadn't shaved that morning. There were no friends or family to applaud their union. Her flowers were fake.

Matt wasn't the man she wanted to marry.

"Sara," the man tried again. "Do you take Matt to be your…"

"No." The bouquet fell to the floor as she raised her hand to her mouth. "Oh god, Matt. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I can't do this."

He shook his head back and forth. "No, Sara. Don't…you can't…not again."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I know it doesn't mean much now…but up to this second, I had every intention of going through with it this time."

The chapel official cleared his throat. "If you kids need some time to work this out, could you step aside so's we can get to the people behind…" He went ignored.

Matt's eyes burned with unshed tears. "Why can't you? Why am I not enough for you?" The answer lay in the look she gave him. "He can't love you, Sara! He doesn't know how. You'll spend the rest of your life climbing stairs and he'll never let you reach him."

"Probably," Sara whispered. "But you mean too much to me...for me to lie to you every day of our life together. Because he'll always be here." She touched the center of her chest. "And you deserve someone who can give you all of her heart."

By this time, the people in the chapel, the official included, were completely engrossed in the scene. Only in Vegas.

"Please, Sara. Think this over. Don't do it." Matt's Adam's apple bobbed. "I miss you. I've missed you for six years. Your laugh…your voice…your scent. Without you, my life is empty."

A tear trickled down her cheek. "You'll find your someone, Matt. I know you will."

Matt looked at the cheap carpet for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head. "In another six years, when you're still waiting for him, will you marry me?"

Sara shook her head. She looked down at her hand and the ring he'd given her the first time around. "Do you want it back now?"

"No." He took a step away from her. "It was never mine to begin with."

* * *

Warrick was silent until she finished. Finally, after taking a few seconds to process it all, he spoke. "Well, at least Ecklie's true to form. He jumps to conclusions everywhere, not just on a case." 

"The truth will come out eventually." Sara folded her arms over her chest. "I need some time away. I'm asking you…as a friend…please don't tell anyone before I get back. Let me be 'married' for awhile."

"Teaching someone a lesson?" Warrick nodded. "I'm on board. He could use a kick in the ass."

Sara handed him back his wedding gift. "Buy your wife something pretty. Dishes, maybe. The next dinner party can be on you."

"Yeah, picture that." Warrick slipped the card back into his pocket and reached for her, pulling her into a hug whether she liked the idea or not. "You know, I'm kinda glad it all turned out this way. I'd like to be there when you take the plunge, girl."

"Yeah," she murmured into his shoulder. "Picture that."

* * *

To Be Continued 

A/N: Television excerpt from Dr. Kevin Wright, as written in his online column.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone, a hundred times over! Hope you keep reading and enjoying;)

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_"People living deeply have no fear of death." – Anais Nin_

* * *

He had one last thing he could do for her.

As soon as he felt reasonably able to operate a motor vehicle (and it said something about the severity of his binge that it took a day or so), Grissom drove himself to Sara's apartment. The whole way, he was torn between hoping she was home for the simple pleasure of seeing her face, and praying that she wasn't home, in case he saw more than he wanted to. Like her wedding ring. Or her husband.

Her car was missing from the lot, but he knocked on her door anyways. No answer. The package he'd brought with him was too big to slip under her door, so he took a calculated risk and left it propped up against the frame.

He stopped for a sandwich on his way back to his townhouse. Balancing the bag, a bottle of soda and his mail, Grissom let himself inside. He set the mail aside for later and sat down at the table to eat his lunch.

No sooner had he taken his first bite than he heard a noise in his bedroom. Something broke and very clearly he heard a muffled, "Shit!" Grissom froze. Very slowly, he set his sandwich down. Where was his service piece when he needed it?

Oh yeah. It was in the bedroom.

Cursing his own safety protocol, Grissom stood up from the table. Wiping his hands on his pants, he looked around for a weapon, any weapon. He settled on the kitchen knives. Grabbing the biggest one he owned, Grissom called out to the intruder.

"I'm armed. Come out with your hands up."

Of all the people in the world who could have broken into his house, the one who walked out of his bedroom, pointing his own gun at him, was the last person he would have expected.

"Gil." Matt Wilson pointed at the knife with the barrel of the gun. "Put that down and let's talk."

* * *

Her plan was to pack a bag, get in her car and just drive. It didn't matter where she ended up…California, Arizona, Mexico…it just mattered that she wouldn't be in Las Vegas.

Driving back from her last shift before her vacation time began, Sara couldn't help but think about the man she'd left at the altar for a second time. Was he already back in San Francisco? Should she eventually try to make contact with him, to apologize or better explain herself? Would he even want to listen? If their roles were reversed, she probably wouldn't.

Sara set those thoughts aside as she pulled up to her apartment. She would consider all the ramifications of her actions when she was at least a hundred miles away from her so-called life.

She noticed the package sitting at her door right away. A plain manila envelope with her name on it. No address. No postage. She'd already picked it up before she even thought about getting a pair of gloves or calling the bomb squad. Too late to be cautious, Sara opened the manila envelope as she entered her apartment.

Her keys dropped the floor. Inside, she found her navy-blue lace bra and a single sheet of paper.

She pulled out both. The bra, as predicted, held too many memories; she set it on her desk and scanned the paper.

_Sara,_

_The most difficult thing that you can do is to watch the person you love love someone else. – Unknown_

_This still applies even if you've driven that person into someone else's arms. But Sara, you have to know that I will be happy for you. Eventually._

_Set aside everything else, and you're still one of my dearest friends._

_Gil_

A tear drop blotted the ink letters making up his name. Another one fell. And then another. Sara lifted the paper up to her lips, like she could somehow capture and embrace whatever trace of himself he'd left on it.

The person you love. It was hard to misinterpret that. Grissom loved her. He loved her, but he'd admittedly pushed her towards Matt. Nothing the man ever did concerning her made sense. The random flirtations, the cold-shoulders, the mixed messages, the most incredible sex of her life immediately followed by the most excruciating morning-after.

It took her being 'married' for him to finally say the one thing that had remained unspoken throughout their twisted, confusing relationship.

And as furious as that fact made her, suddenly Sara knew she'd be making a stop on her way out of town.

She picked up her keys and headed out.

* * *

"You know, I get that you're into bugs. But all these butterflies…" Keeping the gun in his hand steady, Matt examined the walls of Grissom's apartment. "A little too _Silence of the Lambs_ if you ask me."

Grissom's eyes never left the man who was holding him at gunpoint. "Actually that was _Acherontia styx_, the Death's-head moth."

Matt lifted his shoulders. "An insect by any other name. Oh, I'm sorry. Does that offend your specialty?" His voice hardened. "Too bad."

"I don't think you came here to discuss my specialty." He tore his stare away from Matt just long enough to locate where his knife had landed after he'd been forced to throw it aside. It was a good ten feet across the tile floor. Well out of range. "Which begs the question," Grissom went on. "Why are you here when you should be on your honeymoon?"

Something in that question fanned Matt's spark of anger into a full-fledged fire. "My honeymoon?" he spat out. "Didn't you learn in any of your training that you shouldn't mock the man holding a gun to your head?"

Grissom frowned, genuinely confused. "I don't understand." He wet his lips. "You got what you came here for, didn't you? She's yours now. What do you want with me?"

"I want to know…" Matt's glare intensified. "What is it about you that's so fucking irresistible, the woman I love would leave me for you, not once…but twice?"

Confusion melted a little under the heat of hope. "You're not making any sense. Why don't you put the gun down and we can…"

"You're nothing special!" Matt shouted, cutting him off. "You're old enough to be her father! You make her miserable! And yet…she chooses you. Would you please make some goddamn sense out of that for me, because I can't wrap my brain around it!"

Grissom dropped his stare; his eyes darted back and forth. Sara had left Matt. Sara had chosen him. Sara wasn't married?

"What do you want me to say?" he asked Matt a moment later. "I accepted my shortcomings a long time ago. Sara, however, wasn't as quick to catch on."

"What you do to her is wrong." The man shook his head. "You lead her on, you make her jump through hoops…climb stairs...but you never meet her halfway. You make her hang on for more. It's sick!" He thumped his chest with the gun. "I offered her everything! A home, a family…love that doesn't come with a price tag. But what did she do? She turned away from me. Again." Matt moved closer to Grissom. "Because of you."

"You left out the part where you insured her life for a quarter of a million dollars," Grissom said calmly.

Matt's arm faltered. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? Sara and I both agreed to take care of each other."

"But you're the only one who put the wheels in motion."

"Yeah. You know why the policy on me was never drawn up? Because one night she got a call from you, packed a bag and walked out of our life." Matt shook his head. "Just like that. But I did the right thing. I stepped back. I gave her six years to figure everything out."

It was funny how quickly Grissom found himself slipping into investigative mode, even at gunpoint. "So, what happened?"

Matt didn't seem to be aware of the fact that he'd gone from interrogator to interrogated. "In six years, I never met a woman who made me feel the way she did." He paused, looking down at the gun in his hand. "You know…this isn't me. I'm not one of those psychos she helps put away. I just have to know." Matt moved the gun closer to Grissom's head. "Why you and not me?"

He'd maintained his calm up until that point, but the cold barrel of a gun less than an inch from your temple had a way of shattering even the coolest of facades. "I don't know," Grissom replied honestly. "I've tried to figure it out myself. I can't."

"That's not good enough," Matt decided. He cocked the gun; Grissom flinched at the metallic snap. "You have one minute."

But he never got a chance to time anything. Just then, there was a knock on Grissom's door.

* * *

His car was in the driveway, so she knew he was home. But, Sara realized with a sinking heart, after three knocks, it was obvious he wouldn't be answering the door. She had a terrible vision of him standing on the other side, watching her through the peephole, silently waiting for her to go away.

Her anger with him burned her throat. This was one conversation he wasn't going to freeze himself out of.

Sara grabbed the doorknob, testing it. To her amazement, and slight concern, it opened. She took a breath. "Grissom…I'm coming in. Whether you like it or not."

His home was the same organized chaos she remembered. But Grissom was nowhere to be seen. An unwrapped sandwich and an unopened bottle of soda sat on the table. Maybe he was in his room. Or the bathroom. Suddenly Sara was all too aware of the enormity of her trespass.

"Hello? Grissom?"

He appeared around the edge of a dividing wall; his right side rested against it, but his body was too stiff to be natural. "Sara," he said in an eerily quiet voice. "This isn't a good time."

She spread her hands. "When is it ever a good time? But you don't get to leave a note like that on my door and expect nothing to change."

"Sara," he said again, this time with an edge of desperation. "Please go. Please."

"Why? Because it would make your life neater if I just went away and pretended that nothing ever happened between us?" She shook her head. "No. I'm sick of giving you an out every time we talk about something serious. I walk away, I cut you off…I'm not doing it anymore. You can just keep holding that wall up because I am not going anywhere until we…" Her rant died when Grissom moved forward, revealing the man standing behind him, pressing a gun between his shoulder blades.

As fear took hold of every part of her body, Matt maneuvered Grissom further into the living room. "Now, Sara…" Matt began. "Don't be mad."

"Matt," she managed to whisper. "What are you doing?"

"The same thing you are," he replied. "Trying to talk to Gil here." He gave her a knowing look. "He's not much of a talker, though, is he?"

Sara was afraid to move lest she startle whatever psychotic spirit had taken over Matt's body. She looked at Grissom. "It depends…on what you want him to talk about."

"Oh, I'm just trying to get him to tell me why…" Matt stopped. "Wait. Why should I bother asking him when you're here now!" Delighted with his new plan, Matt moved around Grissom's body, keeping the gun carefully trained on him. "Here's the question, honey. What is it about him that keeps you coming back for more?"

She ran her tongue over her lips. "This isn't you."

"Of course it's not me," he said impatiently. "The only experience I have with these things is hours and hours of action movies." He looked at the weapon in his hand. "Can't thank Gil enough, though, for leaving it unlocked in his top drawer."

"Why are you doing this?"

Matt poked Grissom with the gun. "Why don't you tell her?"

Ignoring everything else, even the threat to his life, Grissom locked eyes with Sara. "He wants to know why you love me."

"Because you're rarely at a loss for words, Sara," Matt reminded her. "Oh, and you have one minute."

The part of her that still loved the handsome, kind therapist she'd met so many years ago truly didn't believe that Matt was capable of hurting a fly. But the evidence was right in front of her, cold and deadly and pointing straight at Grissom's heart.

She had one minute to explain her feelings for Gil Grissom. A lifetime probably wouldn't have been long enough.

"Matt." Sara paused. "What do you want me to say? He's the first thought I have when I wake up, and the last one before I fall asleep. He…makes me a better scientist, a better criminalist. A better person. He can cripple me with a single word, and light up my entire world with a smile." Fear spilled over her cheeks. "He's a gorgeous mess."

Grissom swallowed. "Sara…"

She brushed the tears away, but more came. "If you kill him…you kill me. And you're not a killer once, much less twice."

Her words must have made some impact; the arm holding the gun faltered a bit.

"I am so sorry that I've hurt you," Sara told Matt. "I was selfish. I used you to forget about him and that is unforgivable. But it's not his fault. Don't punish him because of what I've done to you."

She could feel Grissom watching her as she approached Matt. He let her get right up next to him. "Please give me the gun," she whispered.

Matt turned his face towards her, touching his forehead to her temple. "I love you, Sara," he sobbed.

"Shh," Sara soothed. "It's okay." Her hand covered his trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head back and forth. "I'm so sorry."

A single shot cracked through the air, shattering everything.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I was going to wait and draw out the suspense, but I figured with all the anticipation of tonight's and next week's eps, I'd spare y'all any more on my end. Thanks for reading, as well as the incredible feedback on the last chapter:)

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Security is when everything is settled. When nothing can happen to you. Security is the denial of life. – Germaine Greer_

* * *

The modern bullet had been invented by Major Rubin in 1883. Unlike its predecessors, it contained a copper jacket which allowed for a much greater velocity before impact. The jacket also kept the heat of the bullet down.

Not that the heat of a bullet really mattered when it slammed into your shoulder.

The first shot, fired from Matt's gun, hit the wall, five inches to Grissom's side. Grissom watched with a fascination he almost felt ashamed to have, as a second shot, the bullet Brass had fired upon entering the house, made contact with Matt's body. He jerked; blood blossomed over his shirt. Grissom's gun slipped from his hand. Matt landed on his knees next to it.

"Oh god! Matt…" Sara dropped down next to him and guided him onto his back. "Call 911," she shouted.

Brass was one step ahead of her. "Dispatch, send a bus to 854 North Imperial Drive. Shots fired. Man down. Officer already on the scene."

"Copy that," a static-laced voice replied.

Grissom felt more helpless than he had while at gunpoint. Sara was already applying what aid she could; her hands were stained with Matt's blood. Her capacity to set aside circumstances in favor of saving a life amazed him. And frightened him. Because he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to do the same if it had been Sara on the wrong end of the gun.

"Gil." Brass jarred him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" When he said nothing, his friend went on. "I came to check up on you. The door was open. He had you at gunpoint…and then he fired."

He understood Brass's need to recount the facts, to assure himself that he'd made a good call. To help his friend who had too many bad memories associated with this scenario, Grissom forced himself to nod. "Thank you."

"He's losing a lot of blood." Sara's statement was full of fear. "We need to keep him warm."

"I'll get a blanket."

When he came back into the living room, she was holding Matt's hand as she leaned over him. He was whispering something in her ear. When she straightened up, there were fresh tears in her eyes. "It didn't have to be this way," she told him so softly that he almost couldn't hear her. "But I forgive you." She pressed her lips to his cheek. A look of utter peace came over the man.

Peace that Grissom wasn't quite sure he deserved.

He cleared his throat and held out a spare blanket from the linen closet. "Here. Cover him completely or he could go into shock."

Their fingers briefly touched as Sara took it from him. She looked away quickly, returning her attention to the man lying bleeding on his floor.

A minute later, the ambulance arrived. The paramedics swarmed around Matt, and everything became a blur of vital statistics and life-saving measures. But Grissom's attention suddenly came into focus when one of the EMTs asked, "Will anyone be going with him?"

Sara glanced at him, but he couldn't read the look in her eyes. Not that he needed to. There was little doubt in his mind that she wouldn't leave Matt alone, even now.

But he hadn't counted on Brass. "I'll go," he said, resigned. "You guys can follow."

With that decided, the paramedics loaded Matt up and rolled him out the door. Brass walked beside the gurney. And then they were gone, leaving Grissom and Sara alone.

* * *

Day shift was coming off duty. Swing shift was already tapped out. So Nick and Warrick found themselves heading to Desert Palm to process an officer-involved shooting. Neither one of them was particularly eager to get in the middle of another politically-charged investigation that could pit PD again the crime lab, but an assignment was an assignment, like it or not.

Upon inquiring after the nameless victim, they were directed to the OR waiting room. They were met there by a very quiet Brass.

"You got pulled for this, too?" Warrick asked as they approached the older man. "Is the officer involved already crying for his union rep?"

The smile that touched Brass's face didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "I am the officer involved." A moment passed. "Here's my piece. I fired one round." Brass pulled the weapon from his holster and set it on a hard, plastic chair. He started unbuttoning his shirt. "You'll find GSR and victim blood."

Nick was first to move. He pulled a pair of gloves from his kit and worked his hands into them, confident that whatever Brass had done would be justified by the circumstances.

Warrick was a little slower. Nick had already started swabbing Brass's hands by the time he donned his own gloves and picked up the gun. A quick count of the live rounds told him that Brass was telling the truth about shooting once.

After sealing the weapon into an evidence bag, Warrick was able to ask, "What happened?"

As far as Nick was concerned, the answer Brass gave was all the justification necessary. Sometimes being right really sucked.

* * *

His house had become a crime scene. And they were both evidence.

A congealing pool of Matt's blood spread out between them like a river that neither one of them was brave enough to cross. With a sinking heart, Sara realized that they couldn't stay in this state of suspended animation for very long. Eventually, they'd both have to give statements and be processed; even if it had been a good call by Brass, a man had been shot. Matt. Matt had been shot. After he'd shot at Grissom. And missed.

Oh, she'd never be able to thank god enough that he'd missed.

She hadn't even noticed she was trembling, but Grissom did. "Honey...do you want to sit down?"

"Can't," Sara replied numbly. "We need to…be processed." For the first time, she looked down at the reddish-brown stains on her hands. "Now I know how Lady Macbeth felt."

"None of this was your fault," Grissom insisted. "You can't believe that it was your fault, Sara."

"Why can't I? I drove him to this. The guy I knew six years ago never would have done this. Never." She blinked. "There's something about me that turns ordinary men into killers…cheaters." Looking up at him, she added to that, "Cowards."

He deserved the pained look that her words gave him, but Sara felt no satisfaction from causing that pain. "If you documented my hands, do you think I could go wash up?" she asked.

Grissom considered this for a moment before he walked over to the kit he always had prepared and ready to go. With his camera and an identifying marker, he took several photos of her hands. "Okay," he said, finishing up. "Bathroom's…" He stopped. "You know where it is."

At least he was acknowledging that she'd spent some intimate time in his house.

She washed Matt off with plain Dial soap and cold water, and dried off with a dark green hand towel. In the past, she might have taken the opportunity to look around Grissom's bathroom. You could tell so much about a person by what they kept in their bathroom. But she just didn't have the energy. Maybe not even the inclination.

Yet on her way back to the living room, Sara couldn't keep herself from stopping in the open door that led into his bedroom. Rather than dwell on the bed, ground zero, she looked around with an investigator's eye. His dresser drawers all lay open, as if they'd been searched through. But that wasn't the only evidence of Matt's intrusion.

"Grissom, come here." He was there, behind her, in a matter of seconds. Sara pointed to what had been a window, but was now a jagged mess of broken glass and mangled Venetian blinds. "Point of entry," Sara whispered.

She wasn't even aware that her knees gave out until he caught her and kept her from sinking to the floor. The warmth of his body was too much to resist. Turning herself around in his arms, Sara buried her face in his shoulder.

It was too soon to talk, and Grissom knew this. So for once, it was okay that he said nothing and simply held her.

Judging by the desperation in his embrace, he needed the contact as much as she did.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: If the plot of this story ever seems weirdly twisted or unnecessarily complicated, just remember this. It can't be any more so than this entire season of CSI: Miami. Thanks for hanging on with me;)

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping if it were not. -Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

Of course Sofia would be put in charge of the investigation. That was just Sara's luck.

"So, you were engaged to the victim several years ago. And you almost married him again just a few days ago. But you still haven't explained what Grissom has to do with any of this."

From across the dining room table of the man in question, Sara stared at the blond detective. Could they ever have been friends, she wondered, or were they simply too much alike? Two single, workaholic women in law enforcement with a taste for older men. The same older man.

Well, that answered that question.

Setting everything else aside, Sara understood that Sofia's question was valid. But she didn't like the eagerness with which the woman seemed to want an answer.

"Matt became very…jealous of Grissom," she said. Yes, she was being purposely vague. But there were just some things that should stay private.

Apparently, Sofia didn't get the hint. "Jealous of what?"

"My relationship with Grissom," Sara replied tightly.

Sofia's brow lifted. "I wasn't aware that you had a relationship with Grissom. Outside of work, that is."

She counted to ten. Slowly. "Matt felt otherwise."

"He imagined the whole thing, then." Sofia nodded. "He came after Grissom in a jealous rage. And you just happened to stop by?" Sara nodded. "Why?"

That was pretty much the end of Sara's patience. "If the answer to that question contained any relevant information, you can be sure that I would tell you. But I've explained what happened, the evidence will support everything I've said, case closed."

A moment passed. "Are you declining to answer?"

"Absolutely." Sara stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the hospital."

"I will have more questions in the future," Sofia warned her. "And you can't decline to answer them all."

It took every bit of her willpower not to snap back a biting, "Watch me," as she walked towards the door.

Sara did look back once though. Sofia was approaching the couch on which Grissom sat, looking lost.

She wanted to go to him, to recapture the few moments they'd spent in silent support before the police arrived. She had no idea if the trauma of the afternoon had even caught up with him yet. And as much as she wanted to be there for him when it did, one simple fact kept her heading out the door.

Her heart was still a little broken…and he was the one who'd broken it.

* * *

Grissom had nothing against Sofia, but when he saw Sara preparing to leave, it was all he could do not to push the detective aside in order to chase after her.

But he remained seated while she walked out. The damage he'd done to their relationship would require more to fix it than a close encounter with a gun.

Sofia's eyes were oozing with concern and some little part of him appreciated that. "Quite a day," she began. "Do you feel like talking about it?"

"I'm not sure what I could add. You've already talked to Sara."

"But according to her statement, she walked into the middle of the scene in progress." Sofia paused. "What happened before she arrived?"

Having no idea how much Sara had revealed, Grissom was reluctant to answer the question. But he couldn't ignore it altogether. "He broke in while I was out. Found my gun. Waited for me to return." Grissom stopped. "I don't plan to press charges as long as he gets some sort of help."

"For his delusions?" Sofia nodded. "Sara told me that he imagined there was some sort of relationship between you and her."

"Sara said that?"

Sofia didn't seem to notice the hurt in his question. "Yes." A moment passed. "Honestly, this all seems open and shut to me. We're really just going through the motions here." She set aside her notes. "IAB will clear Jim. Really…it could have been so much worse."

She didn't need to tell him that. He was all too aware. Matt could have turned his jealousy onto Sara instead. Maybe he would have broken into her apartment and found her service piece. Maybe he would have lost control. The thought chilled him down to his very bone.

"Gil, are you all right?" Sofia reached for his hand. "You're shaking. Did the paramedics even check you out?"

He only covered her hand with his to politely move it away, but Nick chose that moment to enter the living room. Grissom didn't need any special observation skills to see what things might look like to an outside eye.

"We're just about done in there," Nick said, his gaze landing on their joined hands. There was a half-second's pause. "You're gonna need to board that window up pretty good, though."

Grissom slipped his hand out from under Sofia's. "I'll take care of it. Thanks."

"Warrick and I are willing to do it for you, boss. If you need to go somewhere. To see someone. That is, if the lady's done with you."

"For now," Sofia said with a little smile. She stood up. "If you remember anything else, Gil, you know where to reach me."

Nick watched her go with a knowing look that he eventually turned onto Grissom. "Is something wrong with your eye, Nick?" Grissom asked, irked.

"Nope." He cleared his throat. "Guess I'll be getting started on that window."

Grissom rested his forehead on his hands after his CSI left and contemplated his next move.

* * *

"We removed the bullet and repaired what damage we could. He's going to pull through, but there's no telling if there will be any permanent nerve damage. He could be looking forward to a lot of physical therapy in the future."

Her ironic smile must have seemed odd to the doctor. "I'm sure he'll be able to handle it. Thanks."

The woman nodded at Sara. "You can go in and see him now."

But Sara's feet wouldn't budge. The doctor walked away, an even more puzzled look on her face, but still she stayed rooted to the spot. Even if she heard him explain himself a hundred times, she'd never truly understand why he'd done what he had. She'd forgiven him and checked in on him. If she was ever going to forgive herself for her role in his crime, she couldn't owe Matt Wilson anything else.

She said a silent goodbye from the hallway and moved on.

* * *

It almost seemed inevitable, given the synergy they shared, that even in a city like Las Vegas, they would end up in the same place at the same time.

So when Grissom paid the sixteen buck fee and entered Mandalay Bay's shark reef, he wasn't at all surprised to see that Sara was already there. Her back was to the entrance; her slender body was framed by a wall of blue water.

It said something that when he came up beside her, she wasn't at all surprised to see him either.

The sharks glided in front of them, back and forth like silent sentries.

Sara spoke first, but her eyes never left the reef. "When did I tell you about this place?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

Several minutes passed. Tourists milled about, vacationing couples and families, eager to check one more Vegas landmark off on their to-see lists. The deadly beauty of the scene was lost on them.

It was Sara who broke the silence for a second time. "If he hadn't missed…" Her voice faltered.

Grissom turned his head to see her profile. "He did. I'm okay, Sara."

"I'm not." She tore her stare away from the sharks and turned the full weight of it onto him. "I'm not okay. You hurt me."

"Honey…" The lump in his throat burned. "I'm sorry."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Maybe I can't pretend that it's not too late anymore." Before his fear could completely paralyze him, Sara released a sharp breath. "I can't even make that sound convincing, can I? It won't ever be too late." She looked back at the sharks. "But whatever guilt made you come here…it'll pass. And eventually we'll go back to the status quo. Nothing will change. You won't let it."

"Anais Nin said…" He had to stop momentarily to clear his throat. "She said something about a time coming when the risk of remaining tight in a bud is more painful than the risk of blossoming."

"I don't care what Anais Nin said." Sara's laugh was frustrated. "I want to hear what Gil Grissom has to say. Right now. Off the top of his head." She paused. "Can he do that?"

The words came rushing out before he could reign them in and think them over. "I want things to change."

"Be more specific. For all I know, that could mean I should tell Ecklie to go ahead with my shift transfer."

His head ached with the unfamiliarity of voicing his true feelings to the woman at his side. "I want to be with you. But most of all…I want to believe that I actually could."

"What's stopping you from believing?" she whispered.

"The fact that one day you'll wake up next to a sixty year-old man and…"

"And what?" Sara prompted. "Scream and run away? Decide to have a steamy affair with Archie? Curl into a ball and be miserable for the rest of my life? Does any of that sound even remotely like me?"

Grissom ran a hand down his beard. "Why does everything that sounded so reasonable in my head seem so idiotic when you say it?"

"You'll have to answer that on your own. But you should probably get right on that." She closed her eyes. "When we slept together, we didn't use anything. And I just realized…I'm about a week late."

She left him staring at the sharks.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: To follow.

* * *

Someone Else's Star

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become. – Charles Dubois_

* * *

Brass had no use for the politics of law enforcement. But after so many years and a few too many brushes with the dark side of his profession, he had to admit…it was getting pretty good at the game.

He emerged from his latest chat with IAB with both his job and his dignity intact, and that was a personal best. But, then, no one had died. And he'd possibly saved a criminalist, who happened to be a close friend, in the process. His wrist barely stung from the light slap IAB had given it.

When he reached the comforting solitude of his office, Brass shut the door, sank into his chair and reached for the bottle of scotch he kept around for occasions such as this. A finger of liquid relaxation was all he allowed himself, and really all he needed.

He'd just settled back with his glass when there was a knock on his door. "Enter at your own risk," he called out, figuring anyone who wasn't worth talking to would heed this warning, and keep walking.

It was Grissom who darkened his doorway, and he meant that literally. A thundercloud seemed to hang over his head as if he was a cartoon character. He moved like he was walking through syrup.

Brass immediately put the liquor away. No need to set his friend down that path again.

He watched Grissom sit down in front of his desk. The movements were performed from memory; his eyes were open, but he wasn't seeing much of anything. Brass let him sit there for about a minute. Finally, he took it upon himself to snap Grissom out of it.

"So, IAB cleared me. Apparently, it's okay that I shot someone to save your ass. They like you, Gil. They really like you." When this got no response, Brass sighed. "If there's something on your mind, just get it out. Okay? It's been a hell of a day, and I…"

"She might be pregnant." Grissom blinked and for a second, his eyes focused. "I could be a father."

Choking on scotch, even good scotch, wasn't fun. Brass's nose burned and he coughed until he could breathe again. He used the time to process what he'd just heard.

They'd finally done it. Huh.

Setting his glass aside, Brass cleared the last of the liquor out of his throat. "Might be? Long way from 'the strip turned blue.' Or pink. Whatever color it turns these days."

That was supposed to be comforting, but Grissom didn't seem to be comforted. If anything, the observation jarred something inside his mind. His stupor melted away to reveal…agitation.

"How could she just…dump that on me and walk away? I know that I've made mistakes where she's concerned…massive mistakes…"

Brass injected a quick, "Monumental."

"…but if it's true…" Grissom took a breath. "If she is…" His rant lost all of its steam and he slumped back into his chair. "Oh, god…what if she is?"

"If she is…" He shrugged. "You'll at least be able to answer the question 'who's your daddy?'" The glare he received had him holding his hands up, apologetically. "Sorry." A moment passed. "If she is, she is. And you'll deal with it."

"Because my track record of dealing with Sara is so good up until now." Sarcasm didn't suit Grissom. Brass was almost relieved when he hung his head and said, "What's going to happen now?"

"Does my head look like a Magic Eight Ball?" He winced. "Don't answer that."

The sudden look of anguish on his friend's face was potent enough to wipe away all joking. "I have been running away from her ever since I met her. And I've actually convinced myself that I did it for her sake." He shook his head. "I did it for my sake. To protect myself."

"Seems to me that it was not 'protecting' yourself that got you into this potential situation."

Grissom snorted softly. "Well, I came to the right place for brutal honesty."

Brass smiled. "It's what I do."

"Then be brutally honest and tell me what I should do." Looking down at his hands, he mumbled, "Because I can't rationalize what I'm feeling."

"You know that you're not supposed to, right?" Sighing, Brass leaned forward. "Listen, Gil…I've known you for a long time. I've seen you date about a dozen women. I've seen you get bored. I've seen you get dumped. But I have never seen you get drunk." He lifted his shoulders. "You only get that shit-faced over the ones that really matter."

Grissom's brow furred into a deep scowl. "I know she matters, Jim. I just don't know what to do about all the complications."

"Fuck 'em."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugged again. "I think you heard me just fine." His friend continued to stare at him. "What do you want, Gil? A step-by-step instruction manual? A great speech that makes everything magically fall into place for you? You're a big boy. Figure it out." Brass stood up. "Now…and I say this with nothing but respect and friendship…get the hell out of here."

When he reached the door again, Grissom looked back. "Do you think I could actually do it? Be in a relationship?" He swallowed. "Be a parent?"

"I think that you should've slept on that before you slept with her." Brass pointed at the door. "Adios, amigo."

* * *

She desperately wanted a beer, but settled for a comfort of another kind. Macaroni and cheese. The orange powder stuff. It was like being back in college.

After mixing up her dinner, Sara took the entire bowl to the couch. A DVD was already in her machine; she turned it on and sat back to watch the one movie that spelled guilty pleasure. She managed to polish off half the bowl as she watched the roller-skating wonder that was _Xanadu_.

Perhaps it was just her current mood, but she'd never noticed how many similarities there were between Olivia Newton John's goddess character and Grissom. They both spoke in riddles and poetry, keeping secrets and never fully revealing themselves. They showed up, inspired and educated, made the target of their attentions fall in love with them, then disappeared, leaving their lover a shell of the person they'd once been.

The male lead in the movie followed his goddess to her reality and convinced Zeus to let her come back to earth. Three days earlier, she'd dropped a bombshell on Grissom and left him in the middle of a shark tank. And while the film had a happy ending, she wasn't at all optimistic about her chances for one.

_"…But how can our love succeed… a miracle is what we need…and so I appeal to you…_"

Olivia took a breath and there was a knock at her door. With a sigh, Sara paused the movie and hauled herself off the couch. Without looking through the peephole, she pulled the door open.

"Can I come in?" he asked, as though he hadn't always been welcome. She stepped aside. Grissom ventured across the threshold like he was entering a hostile country.

Rather than stand awkwardly until he decided he was ready to say something, Sara tucked back up on the couch. "If you're hungry, forks are in the drawer under the microwave."

A moment passed. "Sara," he finally began. "Why couldn't you just have been another pretty face in the crowd?"

"What?"

"Just a pretty face I could have dealt with. Maybe coffee would have turned into dinner, and dinner into drinks, and then…" He shook his head. "You would have been out of my system."

"Grissom…"

"Or if you'd just been smart. We could have shared a platonic friendship. Two intellectuals who enjoyed talking shop." Seconds ticked by before Grissom spoke again. "Why did you have to be both…and so much more?"

Sara stared at him. "Um…I'm sorry?"

"Being beautiful and brilliant is not something you should ever apologize for." He paced to the end of the room. "Let me do the apologizing."

"What are you apologizing for?" she whispered.

He looked back, about to reply, when the frozen image on her television screen caught his eye. His confused frown was one of her favorite expressions. Sara fought back a smile. "_Xanadu_," was all the explanation she offered.

He couldn't help it. "'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, a stately pleasure-dome decree...'" he recited.

"'Where Alph, the sacred river ran, in caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea,'" she finished up the stanza from the poem which gave the movie its title.

Grissom raised his eyebrows for a brief moment before he plunged ahead. "I hurt you, Sara."

"I know. I was there."

"I did it because I thought Matt was right."

Sara frowned. "Right? Right about what?"

"Everything," was the only answer he offered. "It doesn't matter what he said. All that matters is what I did afterwards. That's what I have to…what I want to apologize for."

She nodded slowly. "Consider your apology accepted." A pause stretched painfully between them. "Is that all?"

"No." Grissom approached the couch. "Sara, I don't care if he was right or wrong about any of it. Everything's different now." He couldn't keep his eyes off her lower belly. "I spent much of the childhood that I can clearly remember without a father. He didn't have a choice in leaving me. I have a choice here." He swallowed heavily. "I want to be a part of my child's life. And being part of its life means being a part of yours."

"You want to be a part of my life now? You're willing to let me in?" Sara stood on shaky legs. Her heart pounded, but her head screamed at her to keep her hopes down to the barest minimum. He was being a good Boy Scout, accepting responsibility for his actions. Nothing more. "You want a relationship."

He inclined his chin. "Yes."

"You want to be with me? You want to fall asleep next to me and wake up beside me. Every day, for the rest of your life?"

"Yes."

"You want to marry me, take me to Lamaze class, hold my hand during labor, get up at two a.m. so I can sleep, go shopping for tiny shoes…cry and laugh and hope and dream…with me?"

There was a split second of hesitation. "I do."

Sara felt the tell-tale twinge of heat behind her eyes that could only be a prelude to tears. "Grissom," she began softly. "I'm not pregnant. It was a false alarm."

All of the air seemed to leave the room.

She closed her eyes, but not before a single tear escaped. "I'm giving you this chance…to take it all back. If I open my eyes and you're gone, it'll be all right. I won't hold it against you. We'll never talk about any of this, ever again. I promise." Sara wet her lips. "But if I open them and you're still here..."

Her own breathing was so loud that she couldn't hear anything else. He could have slammed the door on his way out and she wouldn't have heard it.

She counted down to herself. "Final chance," she warned him after a full minute had passed. For all she knew, she could have been talking to the wall.

Sara's lashes lifted. And she saw blue.

A gasp caught in her throat as a thousand different emotions cascaded through her. Her lower lip glistened, trembling ever so slightly. He was still there. He hadn't left.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," she said, her voice jerking.

Grissom covered the distance between them and drew her face to his for a long, deep kiss. They landed on the couch a moment later; Sara felt the remote under her shoulder, but she ignored it. Even when they shifted and the movement pressed the play button.

They clung to each other as Olivia sang on.

_"…keep me suspended in time with you…don't let this moment die…I get a feeling when I'm with you…none of the rules apply…_"

* * *

"You really thought I was going to walk away. Didn't you?"

She nodded against his chest before turning her face into his warm, soap-scented flesh. No sex had happened that night, but that wasn't to say love hadn't been made. Or at least rediscovered.

"I'm sorry, Sara. My mistakes…"

Lifting her head, she finished, "Led to this moment. Don't regret this away." A second later, she reburied her face against him. "I want you to know," she said, the words muffled by his body. "The scare was real." Sara rose up again. "I would never try to trap you."

"But you did trap me." Grissom traced a finger up and down the length of her arm. "Years ago. And I hope you never set me free."

Her lips twitched into a smile. "But if I trapped you…how is it that I belong to you?"

"I never thought I'd hear you say that you belong to anyone but yourself."

"And you might never again." She rose up on her elbow and looked down at him, freshly overpowered by the sheer depth of what she felt for the man. "But right here, like this, it's okay to tell you that I'm yours. That I couldn't ever be anyone else's." Sara brushed a kiss across his mouth. "So, I'm glad you finally got your head out of your ass."

Grissom tightened his arms around her, pulling her back down against his body. "I'm glad that I wasn't too late."

"What are we going to tell everyone?" Her question was quiet and anxious, despite the warmth of the moment.

"They're investigators." He smiled wickedly. "Let them follow the clues."

* * *

Fin...to be continued...I honestly haven't decided yet.

But if this is to be the end of the ride, thank you for coming along. This has, without a doubt, been my most-read CSI fic to date, and I'm so glad that so many people have enjoyed it. And I'm beyond grateful that so many have also left their reviews.

Again, my most humble thanks. Take care until next time. 'Cause given tonight's finale, there will be a lot of next times...

Kristen Elizabeth 5-18-2006


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